


The Art Of Cooking For Two

by littleblackfox



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Great British Bake Off Fusion, Angst, Finally some kissing, Fluff, M/M, SO MUCH FLOOOOF, Shrunkyclunks, Slow Burn, Smut, it's a Great British Bake Off Fic!, the real OTP in this fic is Luis/Peggy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-08-23 11:07:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 92,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8325400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleblackfox/pseuds/littleblackfox
Summary: “Any questions?”“Uh. What the fuck am I doing here?” Bucky offers.





	1. Cake

**Author's Note:**

> Write a Great British Bake Off AU, they said  
> It will be fun, they said.
> 
> I'll be updating this behemoth once a week, life and the stamina of mny wonderful betas permitting.
> 
> With thanks to Queenofthewips and Eidheann for their fabulous beta skills. I love you guys.

The taxi deposits Bucky outside of a perfectly pleasant little hotel somewhere south of nowhere, Berkshire. He hauls his bag out of the footwell behind the driver's seat and climbs out, feet crunching on the pebbled driveway. As the taxi pulls away and trundles down the road, Bucky wonders, not for the first time, or even the tenth, what the fuck he is doing.

It had been a joke at first, filling out the application form for a television baking competition and sending it off without a second thought. Then there had been the invite to an audition, baking two items for the overly cheerful researcher who had wolfed down his _placinta_ and marmalade cake, and told him they’d be in touch.  
He had thought that would be the end of it, but he’d been called back a month later for a screen test and interview with the producer, Maria, a slightly terrifying woman with a clipboard and a smile that seemed sincere while also expressing the desire to punch you in the throat if you mildly inconvenienced her. He’d had CO’s in Kabul less terrifying than she was.  
Shortly after that he’d been invited back to a second interview, this time with the judges from the show. Nick Fury, the steel eyed ‘Bad cop’ judge, born and raised in Hell’s Kitchen where his father ran a bakery. And Peggy Carter, a codebreaker at Bletchley Park, who fell into cookery at the end of the war and spent the next fifty years publishing cookbooks, presenting TV shows and cementing her role as the nation's favourite grandmother. Bucky had been more nervous about cooking for her than for Fury. Fury was dissatisfaction made flesh and clad in leather, no point in trying to please him. But Peggy Carter's opinion actually mattered. She had been sweet and understanding when he got flustered, and didn’t even stare at his arm.  
And now here he was, stood outside a pleasant little hotel somewhere in Berkshire.

He pulls himself together and walks up the stone steps to the door, pushing it open and peering around the foyer. He spots Maria standing by the reception desk and slopes over to mutter hello. She glances up and gives him a brittle little smile.  
“Mr Barnes, you made it,” she says.  
She mutters to the receptionist, who picks a key from the rack behind her and hands it over. Maria gestures for Bucky to follow her and leads the way to the stairs, walking up to the second floor and down the hallway. She tosses the keys to him and he manages to catch them without fumbling.  
“This is your room, try not to wreck it,” she says with a smirk. “Breakfast is at 5.30am. Tradition is the contestants have dinner together Friday night, so be down in reception at 7pm. You’ll get to meet the competition.” She pauses to make a note on her clipboard. “Any changes to your recipes?”  
Bucky shakes his head.  
“Any questions?” she asks with a raised eyebrow.  
“Uh. What the fuck am I doing here?” Bucky offers.  
She snorts. Holy crap, she has a sense of humour.  
“I ask myself the same thing,” she says and holds out her hand. “Give me your phone.”  
Bucky hesitates before pulling his phone out of his pocket. Maria plucks it out of his hand.  
“You’ll get it back on Sunday,” she says, tucking it in her pocket.  
“What?” Bucky splutters.  
“No mobile phones, no cameras, no internet access,” she rattles off. “No googling recipes or tweeting about being eliminated”.  
Bucky nods. Oh, well that makes sense. Maria gives him a smile that might actually be genuine and stalks off the way she came.  
Bucky unlocks the door and walks into the room. It’s small but comfortable, with a double bed and en suite. He drops his bag on the floor, kicks off his shoes and falls face first on the bed.  
What the fuck is he doing here?

Bucky ambles downstairs shortly before 7pm to find the reception full of people. A dozen to be precise, the eleven other contestants and Maria, who herds them like a Border Collie with her milling sheep.  
They are ushered out the door and down the road to a nearby restaurant, a bucolic, wood panelling and open fireplace place with soft lighting from wall-mounted lanterns and fuck-ugly carpets.  
Bucky finds himself sat at the end of the table next to an excitable Mexican who introduces himself as Luis and launches into a lengthy anecdote about.. Ricotta cheese? Or rosé wine? Bucky nods and makes ‘Uh-huh?’ noises at appropriate moments.  
Menus are passed around and Maria circles the table, getting everyone’s food and drink orders down despite all the chattering and questions. When she returns from the bar after placing the orders she suggests that they go around the table and introduce themselves, pointing to a thin, ginger haired woman at the far end of the table who smiles at the group.  
“Hi, I’m Pepper. I run a clean eating blog. I think food can be healthy and delicious.”  
Bucky suppresses a laugh, and Luis kicks his leg and sniggers. Maria points to the next person down the table, a ruggedly handsome older man.  
“My name is Alexander Pierce. I recently retired and have taken an interest in cooking,” he says, smiling at the group.  
Maria points to the man next to him, who folds his hands on the table before speaking.  
“Good evening, my name is T’Challa. I am from Wakanda and it is my pleasure to be here.” His voice is soft and low.  
The young woman with long dark hair next to T'Challa speaks up next.  
“Hi, I’m Jane. I’m an astrophysicist. When I’m not studying quantum mechanics I like making cakes.”  
“Hey, I’m Luis! My cousin filled in my application form, y’know? He knows this dude who makes these killer pain au chocolat and the lamination is just exquisite…” Bucky gives Luis a sharp kick to the ankle and raises his eyebrows. “Anyway, yeah. I like baking.”  
Bucky glances around the table and takes a deep breath.  
“I’m Bucky. Uh… Born in Romania, moved here as a kid. Was in the Army but,” he raises his hand, his metal fingers reflecting the lamplight. “Medical discharge.”  
“Holy shit!” exclaims a girl further down the table. The large, blond haired man sat next to her laughs and calls her spirited.  
The man sat opposite Bucky gives him a sympathetic smile before speaking.  
“Hi, I’m Bruce. I stress-bake. A lot.”  
There is a ripple of amusement around the table.  
After Bruce is a young woman with an Eastern European accent thicker than Bucky’s.  
“I’m Wanda. I’m from Sokovia, but you’ve probably never heard of it. My brother sent my application in without telling me.”  
Bucky glances at the next guy along and his heart kicks in his chest. Damnit the man is beautiful, dark blond hair and blue eyes. Bucky mentally slaps himself. Focus.  
“Uh. I’m Steve, I’m from Brooklyn originally. Uh, I’m an artist. I like making patisserie.”  
_Focus, Barnes. Focus._  
The next in line is the young woman who was so excited by Bucky’s hand.  
“Hey guys, I’m Darcy. I’m studying political science but I’d rather make cupcakes.” She points at Bucky. “And I _really_ wanna touch that hand!”  
There is awkward laughter at that, and Bucky leans forward and rests his hand on the table, keeping it unnaturally still. He’s still not entirely comfortable with people staring at the prosthetic, and has been keeping it under the table during the meal so no one has spotted its range of mobility. Yet.  
“Really?” the girl asks delightedly.  
Bucky nods and watches as she taps it with her index finger, waits for her to relax and snaps his fingers over her hand, making her jump and squeal. He pulls back and tucks his hand under the table while she laughs and swears at him.  
Beside her the blond, muscled giant of a man bangs his fist on the table for attention.  
“Greetings, I am Thor. I will vanquish you all,” he says cheerfully.  
There is a nervous giggling around the table and the last contestant speaks up.  
“I’m Scott. I don’t know why I’m here, it’s all some terrible mistake.”

Their drinks arrive shortly after, and everyone starts to strike up conversations with the people sat next to them. For Bucky that means listening to Luis and occasionally exchanging a few words with Wanda and Bruce. When the food arrives the table falls silent while everyone eats, but for the occasional comment from Pepper about how everything is loaded with nitrates and toxins and Thor's cheerful flirting with Jane.  
The waitresses come to collect their empty plates, and Maria points out that they’re to be waiting in reception at 6.15 am and to consider the bar closed. Luis and Darcy kick up a fuss over the early start and lack of alcohol, but Maria gives them a terrifying smile and they settle down.  
They finish their drinks and allow themselves to be herded back to the hotel, where they mutter goodnight to each other and go up to their rooms.  
Bucky kicks off his shoes and putters around his room for a while before brushing his teeth, getting undressed and going to bed.  
He stares at the ceiling and wonders, not for the last time, what the fuck he is doing.

The nightmare wakes him up before the alarm call from reception does. Bucky sits on the edge of the bed and breathes slowly in through his nose and out through his mouth, counting to five as he does so. He stretches and runs through his physio routine before making the most of the hotel's power shower. By the time he is shaved and dressed in jeans and a long sleeved t-shirt, it’s time to head downstairs to breakfast.  
He pulls on his shoes and grabs his hotel key, padding across the hall and down the stairs, managing to find the dining room where a continental breakfast is laid out. Bruce is sat at one of the tables with orange juice and fruit salad in front of him. Bucky pours himself some coffee and grabs a bagel before motioning to the seat opposite.  
“Mind if I join you?” he asks.  
Bruce nods with a smile, and Bucky sits down.  
“Nervous?” Bruce asks as he pushes diced melon around his bowl.  
“Nah,” Bucky says with a grin. “You?”  
“Questioning my life choices,” he says ruefully.  
“Oh, yeah. That’s a given,” Bucky laughs and bites into his bagel.  
The rest of the contestants filter into the room for breakfast. Luis is uncharacteristically quiet, hugging his cup of coffee to his chest and poking listlessly at a croissant.  
Steve arrives last, still damp from a shower. Not that Bucky is paying attention.  
At 6.15am Maria hustles the stragglers out of the dining room, and they all climb into a fleet of waiting taxis and whisked off to the Baking Marquee. 

On arrival they meet the other producer, Phil.  
Phil is polite, well presented and slightly flustered. He leads the way into the tent and talks them through the day's filming, showing them around the twelve counters stacked with their ingredients and their personal ovens set up underneath. The shared fridges and freezers are lined against the near wall. He lectures them on using bad language (don't), talking over the judges while filming (don't) and sternly advising them to behave themselves, giving Luis a pointed look.  
His warnings all fly out the window when the hosts arrive and immediately start making lewd jokes and getting Phil flustered. He mutters darkly at them and goes off in search of the camera crew.  
The show’s hosts, Clint and Natasha, introduce themselves to the contestants. Clint is laid back with a sarcastic streak a mile wide and a love of innuendoes. Natasha is sharp, sly and has a mouth like a sailor. A dishonorably discharged, extremely vulgar sailor.  
The contestants are plied with tea and biscuits and made to feel welcome while the camera crew set up around them. There is a susurrus amongst the group when the judges arrive, Peggy resplendent in a vintage pantsuit and Nick in his customary leather.  
Phil flaps around them for a while before the cameras start rolling and the contestants are sent to their counters.

Bucky’s counter is somewhere in the middle, alongside Darcy and behind Scott. He’s in front of Steve, so at least he won’t be distracted every time the guy bends down to check the oven. He does glance over to catch his eye and give a reassuring smile, which Steve returns.  
Peggy makes the first announcement while they put on their aprons and check their recipes, informing the cameras that the first round in the competition is cakes, with three challenges over two days. The first of the day is the ‘Signature’ challenge, their tried-and-tested favourite recipe. They are given two hours to make a vegetable cake.  
It’s slightly surreal having to stand around and listen to the announcement like the information is new, and he hadn’t submitted his recipe weeks beforehand.  
Bucky had decided on chocolate beetroot cake, and immediately starts peeling and grating his beets.  
In front of him Scott is muttering under his breath and grappling with a handful of carrots. He glances back to see Steve peeling a butternut squash. When Steve looks up at him he waves his purple stained right hand and rolls his eyes. Steve smiles before returning to his work. 

Clint and Natasha come to bother him while he’s measuring out his cream and breaking chocolate into pieces. They get underfoot and poke at his arm, asking if it comes with attachments, and stealing chunks of chocolate until Bucky threatens them with beetroot stained fingers and they scuttle off cackling, in search of more victims.  
Bucky melts chocolate and cream together, setting it aside to cool while he separates his eggs and whisks the whites into soft peaks. He combines the rest of his ingredients together in a bowl, stirs in the chocolate cream and folds in the egg whites before he spoons the mixture into a greased cake tin. He smooths down the top and slides it into the oven. He wipes down the counter and washes his hands before glancing around the room.  
The judges are talking to Bruce about his cake. Scott is swearing at a bowl of batter. Wanda is sat cross-legged on the floor in front of her oven and doesn’t look inclined to move. Bucky has the best part of an hour to kill, so he heads over to the table set up with tea and coffee making facilities and sets the kettle on to boil. He makes tea for Scott, Luis and Wanda, coffee for himself and Steve, who looks genuinely touched when he pushes the mug across the counter towards him.  
Pepper insists on making her own tea which isn’t even tea but some sort of compost heap in a bag that helps the body… something. Bucky tunes out at that point and carries on making a cup of chamomile tea for Bruce before going around the room to offer a drink to the rest of the group.

Forty five minutes into his hour of cooking time Bucky checks on his cake, poking it with a skewer and deciding to give it another five minutes. He sits on the floor in front of the oven and drums his prosthetic hand on the glass, counting down the minutes. He is suddenly aware of a cameraman filming the tapping of his metal fingers on the oven door and quickly snatches his hand out of view.  
He checks the cakes again and pulls it out of the oven, setting it on the counter to cool before removing it from the tin and placing it on a cakestand.  
He covers the cake with chocolate ganache, running a palette knife over the surface until he has a smooth, glossy finish. He licks the blade clean while he waits for the ganache to set. He spots a camera pointing towards him and winks at it before dropping the palette knife in the sink.  
He mixes beetroot powder with cocoa powder and dusts it around the edge of the cake, stepping back before the urge to fidget with it gets too much and starts to tidy up. He glances up and sees the people around him putting finishing touches to their cakes and feels relieved. He’s not out of time, nor finished suspiciously early.  
Clint and Natasha call time and Scott swears under his breath. Bucky walks over to his counter to clap him on the back and say nice things about his lopsided cake.  
Steve comes over to compliment Bucky’s cake and Bucky manages to ask a fairly lucid question about using raw grated squash or pumpkin puree in cake, which Steve is happy to answer. They are still discussing crushed amaretti biscuits versus ground almonds to counter the moisture content of the vegetable when Phil hustles them back to their counters for judging.

The judging for the first round happens at each contestant's counter, and Thor is first.  
Thor has a parsnip and honey cake that has singed a little. Peggy makes sympathetic noises, explaining that honey cakes are more likely to burn, but compliments him on the flavour. Nick makes a slightly disparaging remark that doesn’t even register with the beaming Thor.  
Bruce follows with a pumpkin and nutmeg cake that is very well received, followed by Scott and Jane who made acceptable, but not particularly noteworthy carrot cakes.  
Darcy is next with a ‘mystery’ cake, a depression-era recipe with the surprise being that it’s made with a tin of tomato soup. The judges are unconvinced, and declare the results dry and odd tasting.  
Bucky briefly considers making a run for it as the judges approach his table, but manages a smile instead as they gather around his cake. Peggy compliments the classic simplicity of the presentation, while Nick grouses that it’s rather plain looking. They cut into the cake and Bucky lets himself relax a little as they take a bite. Peggy lets out a little hum of pleasure and takes a second bite. Nick grudgingly admits that it’s dense and fudgy, though a shade too bitter. Peggy declares it to be perfect, while Clint and Natasha hoover up what's left of the slice and pick at the crumbs. The judges move on to the next contestant, and Natasha tears a large piece off the edge of Bucky’s cake as she passes, dodging away when Bucky swats at her. Steve leans over to murmur congratulations once they have left, and Bucky does his best not to blush.

T'Challa has made a lime drizzle cake made with sweet cassava, a tuber with a rich coconut flavour. Peggy delights in the unusual ingredient and the balance of flavours. Nick twists his lip and mutters ‘good’ under his breath.  
Luis is next with a boozy sweet potato tres leches cake, a light sponge soaked in Irish liqueur, condensed milk and cream. Peggy is delighted with the alcohol, and Luis flirts with her mercilessly while Nick complains that the whiskey spoils the flavour of the cake.  
Alexander follows with a courgette and walnut coffee cake, finished with a classic buttercream filling and topped with piped rosettes and walnut halves. Nick calls the design old fashioned, though Peggy refers to it as classic.  
Steve is next and Bucky whispers encouragements as the judges approach. His butternut squash, ginger and almond cake is golden brown, filled with whipped cream and crushed amaretti biscuit, and topped with a dusting of gingered sugar. Peggy cuts into it and gushes over the crunch of amaretti and moist crumb. Nick shrugs and calls it a ‘good bake’, which is the Nick Fury equivalent of a three hour firework display accompanied by the Philharmonic Orchestra.  
Clint and Natasha squabble over the remains of the slice until Clint snatches up the plate and runs out of the marquee with it.  
Bucky snags him long enough to congratulate him and sneak a mouthful of cake while Phil is chasing down the hosts. Peggy’s right, it’s delicious and Bucky says as much which makes Steve blush furiously.

Clint and Natasha reappear, Clint happily licking the last traces of cream off his plate and ignoring Phil’s mutters about professionalism, and Pepper is next.  
Her zucchini angel food cake, made with oat flour, coconut sugar and about a thousand eggs, is pale and slightly deflated. She informs the judges that the cake is fat free, sugar free and gluten free. Nick grimaces and calls it taste free, likening it to an oddly sweet omelette. Peggy smiles and comments on half the fun of cake being the indulgence.  
Luis makes retching noises and Bucky hisses at him, though is inclined to agree.  
Finally, there is Wanda’s chocolate chilli zucchini cake. It’s covered in a rich, glossy ganache and decorated with fine strips of candied chilli. The judges cut a generous slice and Clint and Natasha get a mouthful before anyone else, their groans and garbled enthusiasm drowning out any complaints from Nick that the chilli is too powerful. Peggy declares the cake moist and indulgent, and admires Wanda’s organisation and skill. Wanda mumbles and ducks her head.

With the judging over, everyone starts moving around the counters, tasting each other's cakes and congratulating and commiserating on the judges comments. Bucky heads over to Luis to try his Tres Leche cake, taking his chocolate beetroot with him. Scott joins them, and after a moment Steve appears at Bucky’s shoulder with his bake, and Bucky wastes no time in foisting cake on him.  
Phil hustles everyone out of the marquee and off to lunch, provided by a mobile catering company, while they wait for the next round of the competition to be set up.  
They sit at trestle tables in the sunshine, Bucky wedged between Steve and Wanda. Thor sits himself down opposite Jane and starts reciting poetry to her while Darcy cackles and eggs him on. The rest of them pick at their pasta bakes and fret over what the next challenge will be.  
The show requires some talking head shots with each contestant, giving the audience a chance to get to know each of them a little better, and watch them sweat and panic over the challenges. Phil collects a handful of contestants and takes them off to scenic parts of the country estate where the show is filmed.  
Bucky watches as Steve, followed by Darcy, then T'Challa and finally Pepper are summoned to their interviews. Luis elbows him in the ribs.  
“Best ‘till last, man,” he says cheerfully.

An hour and a bowlful of bland pasta later Phil reappears and ushers them back into the marquee.  
The counters have kilner jars filled with ground almonds, sugar and eggs laid out on them, along with a printed sheet of instructions laid face down on each countertop. The contestants wander over to the same counter they had been using in the morning to await further instructions.  
Bucky glances over at Steve and raises his eyebrows. Steve shrugs and shakes his head.  
Clint and Natasha position themselves at the front of the marquee alongside the judges and introduce the Technical Challenge, Clint explaining for the audience at home that it is the round in the competition where the bakers prove their technical ability when given a recipe with no instructions, just a list of ingredients and quantities.  
Bucky shifts nervously. With no guidelines to follow the challenge is how you combine the ingredients, how long you cook them and the oven temperature used. The challenges are usually obscure and unusual recipes designed to trip up inexperienced bakers.  
Nick announces that the challenge is a _Tårnkake_ , a Norwegian wreath cake.  
The contestants glance at each other, shaking their heads and looking around. No one has heard of it. Peggy describes a series of concentric rings of cake stacked on top of one another to form a steep cone shape and topped with white icing.  
Clint reminds the contestants, for the benefit of the cameras, that since the challenge is tested blind by the judges, they will not be observing the baking, and direct Peggy and Nick out of the marquee.  
They are given two hours and a collection of ring shaped moulds to use, and the clock starts.

Bucky turns over the sheet of paper and reads through the recipe. He frowns to himself, the ingredients list has no flour or fat in it. After a moment of staring blankly at the page he shakes himself and gets to work.  
He separates four egg whites and put them in an electric mixer, setting it to whisk while he weighs out sugar and ground almonds. He glances up and sees Scott looking lost, so whistles softly at him and tilts his head to the mixer and the pile of egg shells on his counter. Scott nods and starts cracking eggs.  
Bucky slowly incorporates the ground almonds and sugar until he has a soft dough. He sets the dough to one side and spreads his metal cake rings out on the counter.  
He hears a cough behind him and glances around to see Steve looking at him. He watches as Steve slowly taps a small glass bottle of almond essence on his counter. Fuck, he’d missed that. He gives Steve a quick nod and finds the bottle on his table, adding a teaspoon of extract to his batter and folding it in. He oils the cake rings and spoons out the soft dough, spreading it evenly in each mould. He can hear Clint and Natasha badgering Scott, but keeps his head down as he works, and soon enough they are hovering around him, prodding his cake tins and asking him questions.  
He pinches Clint with his metal fingers, making him yelp and twist away, and they leave him alone for the time being. A few moments later he can hear Steve yelp as Clint prods him and asks if he works out, and Bucky tries not to snigger.

He puts the first lot of cake tins in the oven and sets the timer for seven minutes. He looks over at Luis to his right, who is getting his wetter batter into his moulds with a piping bag. Bucky asks if he’s okay, and Luis gives him a thumbs up.  
Steve is busy filling his cake moulds. Bucky doesn’t want to disturb him, so he gets out a couple of wire cooling racks and sets them on the counter, then sits on the floor to glare through the glass oven door at the cakes within. He resists the urge to open the oven door until the cakes are golden in colour, and makes little warning noises at Luis everytime he goes for his own oven. He can hear Steve chuckling behind him each time it happens.  
He finally opens the door and pulls out his first lot of cakes, they look light and well risen, and he sets them down on the cooling racks before putting the next lot of tins in and setting the timer again.  
He runs a knife around each cake and they pop out fairly easily onto the cooling rack. He presses each one and watches them spring back, satisfied.  
He leaves the next lot in slightly too long, and they come out a little darker, but he’s still happy with them. He repeats the process, washing and reusing moulds as he goes until he has eighteen sponge rings. He looks at his ingredients and decides on an egg white icing, whisking the separated egg whites and adding icing sugar a spoonful at a time. until he has a smooth, firm icing. He spoons the mix into an icing bag and starts assembling the cake.  
He arranges his cake rings by size and drizzles icing on the largest one, setting it on the provided cake stand and getting to work on the next one. He is vaguely aware of Natasha warning them that there were only ten minutes remaining, but keeps his head down until the last cake ring is positioned at the top of his slightly lopsided tower.  
He steps back before he gets the urge to start fiddling and knock the damn thing over, looking over at Steve who is adding a last few artful drips of icing to a damn near perfect looking tower. Bucky whistles and Steve flaps a hand at him, smiling as he shoos him away.  
Bucky looks around the room, Scott has stacked his cake rings and is hastily squirting them with icing, Luis is dusting his tower with icing sugar and Wanda is sat on a stool drinking a cup of coffee.  
Natasha calls time, and everyone steps away from their tables except Thor, who continues to drizzle icing over his impressive cake. He ignores Natashas repeated calls to stop, and gives her a sly grin before shoving the nozzle of the piping bag between his lips and squeezing the last of his icing into his mouth.

They drink tea and mill around while a line of tables are set at the front of the marquee. Phil places a picture of each contestant in a line on top, facing towards the contestants. Twelve stools are placed in a row in front of the tables.  
Clint and Natasha take their places. The cameras are put in position and start rolling.  
Natasha calls for the contestants to place their finished bakes behind their pictures and there is a slightly clumsy, uncoordinated dash to get the cakes in position before taking a stool.  
Bucky positions himself next to Luis, because, well, someone has to, and manages not to jump when Steve sits next to him.  
“Good luck,” Steve murmurs. Bucky grins at him.  
“I’d say the same, but you got this in the bag,” he counters, which makes Steve blush.  
Damnit, he’s _cute_ when he blushes.

Clint and Natasha congratulate the contestants on the challenge, and call in the judges, who position themselves behind the table facing the contestants.  
Nick and Peggy start appraising the first cake, and the contestants watch silently as he breaks apart the wreath, prodding and squeezing while Peggy takes demure bites and compliments the flavours. Nick works his way along the table, breaking up the wreaths and shoving his fingers into the cake rings. To dry, he growls. Too sweet. Too much vanilla. Not enough vanilla. Peggy makes a point of saying something complimentary about each cake. Nicely balanced, she says. Well structured. Excellent crumb. Good icing.  
Clint seems to make it his personal mission to eat as much cake as possible, and stands behind the judges stuffing chunks of cake in his mouth, regardless of when Nick dismisses the bakes as overdone or lacking vanilla.  
For the contestants trying not to wince at Nick’s dismissive remarks, the sight of Clint cramming more cake into his face than is humanly possible and winking merrily softens the blow.

After a moment of conferring, the judges rank the wreaths from worst to best.  
Scott comes in twelfth. He shrugs and nods his head while Luis throws an arm around his shoulder. Thor is next, and is completely unfazed. Darcy, Bruce and Alexander follow, much to Alexander's displeasure. Pepper, Jane and Luis are called next. Bucky is called, much to his shock. Luis punches him in the arm, then winces and shakes his fingers because, oops, wrong arm. Bucky slaps him on the back, partly because Luis came in fifth and deserves a slap on the back, and partly because Luis forgot he has a fuckin’ _metal arm_ and Bucky loves him a little bit for that.  
Steve comes in third, and Bucky puts an arm around his shoulders and gives him a little shake while Steve covers his face with his hands. Wanda comes in second and first place goes to T'Challa.  
The cameras record them hugging and congratulating each other before Phil sends them outside where a trestle table has been laid out with tea and all their cakes from the morning, so they spend half an hour trying each other’s bakes and chatting while Phil plucks people from the group to film segments assessing their progress in the competition so far.  
Bucky watches contestants come and go, until Steve gives him a gentle nudge and asks him about his plans for the next day's challenge.

They are shepherded into taxis and taken back to the hotel. No one feels like going out to the restaurant again, and they slowly disperse, some going to their rooms to work on their challenges tomorrow, grab a shower or order room service.  
Bucky debates going to his room to lie on the floor and question his judgement, but Luis grabs him and drags him to the hotel dining room. Luis catches Steve before he disappears upstairs and talks at him until he agrees to join them for dinner.  
Bruce, Scott and Wanda join them with stories of Thor attempting to woo Jane with a picnic in the car park while Darcy took pictures and offered encouragement.  
Bucky ends up sitting between Wanda and Steve, poking at his rubbery gnocchi and listening to Luis reassure Scott that he wasn’t going to be voted off the next day. They wonder aloud who will win in the end, whether Thor will have a black eye in the morning, and if coconut sugar is a real thing.  
Wanda rests her head on Bucky’s shoulder and starts to doze, so he quietly excuses himself from the table and leads her back to her room. She mumbles at him in language familiar and strange as they climb the stairs and walk down the hall. He gets her into her room and warns her to clean the gunk off her face before she goes to bed. She rolls her eyes and calls him _Tata_ before shutting the door.  
Bucky briefly considers going back to the dining room, but instead walks down the corridor to his own room.  
He brushes his teeth, gets undressed and climbs into bed, and it’s not long before he slips into sleep.

Bucky jerks awake, foggy and disoriented. He takes a few deep breaths and remembers where he is:, some ridiculous chocolate box hotel in the south. Making cakes for a TV cooking competition. He rubs a hand over his face, dull silver gleaming. There’s icing in between the metal plates. Bucky sighs and gets to his feet, shuffles into the bathroom and turns on the shower. He brushes his teeth while the water heats up, strips off his nightclothes and ducks under the showerhead. He washes quickly and scrubs at his prosthetic with a nailbrush, holding the metal fingers under the spray until they’re shiny and clean. He turns off the water and towels himself off, wrapping the damp towel around his waist while he rummages in his bag for clean clothes.  
He dresses in dark jeans and a long sleeved top, pulling on socks and shoes and hastily packing up his bag.  
Since the Showstopper challenge will take all morning, they need to check out before going over to the marquee, leaving their bags in Maria's care until the end of the day, when they’ll be bundled into taxis and sent home, one of their number permanently.  
He double checks the bathroom and under the bed, checking he’s not left anything, before throwing his bag over his shoulder and heading out into the hall, locking the door behind him and heading down the stairs.

He sees Maria at the reception desk and hands in his key. She nods at him and makes a note on her clipboard while he wanders over to the dining room where Bruce is already eating fruit salad and humming to himself. Bucky gets some coffee and toast before joining him.  
“All set for today?” Bruce asks softly. Bucky shakes his head and laughs. “Me neither”.  
They sit in silence for a while, Bucky chewing on toast while Bruce nurses his glass of orange juice. The room slowly fills with contestants, Luis slumps in a chair next to Bucky, cup of coffee cradled to his chest and grumbles quietly into his shoulder while Bucky chuckles and rests his hand on the back of Luis's head, lightly rubbing at his scalp until he stops grumbling. Steve comes down last, still damp from a shower, and snags the last bagel.  
At 6.15am Maria herds them out to the waiting taxis and they make the short journey to the estate where the Baking Marquee is set up.

The taxi deposits them with their bags outside the manor house where they stow their belongings before walking down to the Marquee.  
The counters are set up with equipment and Phil directs them to the counters they had used the previous day. They check their stocks of ingredients and put on their aprons. The hosts arrive along with the judges, and position themselves at the front of the Marquee. The cameras are put in place and filming starts.  
Natasha welcomes them all back to the baking tent and describes the final task of the weekend, the Showstopper Challenge. She explains for the cameras that it’s an opportunity for the contestants to show off their skills and produce a bake that is both professional in appearance and excellent in flavour.  
Peggy steps forward and announces the challenge itself, twenty four individual layered cakes, each with a minimum of four layers. Every cake must look exactly the same.  
The camera pans around for reaction shots and Bucky shifts from foot to foot. He had submitted his recipe over a week ago, so it’s not exactly news to him. He resist the urge to pull a face at the camera when it pauses on him.  
They are given a ridiculously short amount of time in which to do the challenge, and told to get started.

Bucky pre-heats his oven and starts separating eggs, putting the whites into the freestanding mixer on his counter, fitting the whisk attachment and setting it work while he weighs out sugar and beats it together with the remaining egg yolks. He measures out sweet almond oil and adds it to the mix.  
The judges start walking around the room, peering at the contestants while they work and muttering between themselves for the cameras.  
Bucky greases and lines a couple of shallow baking trays. He stops the mixer and checks on his egg whites, pleased to see them forming stiff white peaks. He weighs out flour and cocoa powder, then sifts them into the egg yolk mixture. He carefully folds in the whisked egg white, careful not to knock the air out of them and pours the mix into the two baking trays, getting them distributed evenly. He tilts each tray to spread the cake into the corners, checks that the oven is hot enough and slides each tray onto a shelf, closing the oven door carefully and setting the timer for twenty minutes.  
He glances over at Steve, who is spreading cake batter out on a similar sized baking tray. Bucky gives him a wink and he smiles in return, pink tinting his cheeks.  
Bucky checks on Luis, whose cakes are already in the oven. He’s singing cheerfully while whipping up a buttercream dyed a vivid shade of green. Scott is pouring wine-coloured chocolate batter into an unlined tray. Bucky whistles to him and he pauses, glancing over. Bucky holds up a roll of baking parchment and Scott swears under his breath and starts scraping his batter back into his mixing bowl, washing and drying his tray before oiling it and lining it with paper. He gives Bucky a thumbs up and starts scraping out batter again.  
Clint clicks his tongue at Bucky as he walks past, but there’s still a grin on his face so Bucky doubts he’s in trouble.

Bucky sets a pan of water onto the stovetop to boil and gets to work on his filling. He cracks eggs into a heatproof bowl, weighs in sugar and sets it on top of the pan. He grabs a whisk and starts beating. It’s time consuming and his shoulder starts aching, but the mix becomes thick and creamy before anything essential seizes up of falls off. He taps the excess off the whisk into the bowl and puts the mix in the fridge to cool.  
He still has a few minutes to go before the cake is ready to come out, so measures out chocolate and double cream, breaking the chocolate into small pieces and putting them together in another heatproof bowl, setting it over the pan of simmering water and turning off the heat.  
He crouches down in front of the oven and peers through the glass fronted door. After a minute he grabs a skewer from the counter, opens the door a little and pokes the centre of the cake with the skewer. It comes out streaked with batter, so he carefully closes the door and sits back down. Five more minutes.  
He hears Steve clearing his throat and tips his head back far enough to see him leaning over his counter, looking down at Bucky hunched on the floor.  
“You okay there, Buck?”  
Bucky grins at him. “Ask me in an hour?”  
Steve snorts and nods, going back to his thickened creme patissiere.

Bucky checks his cake again and pulls it out of the oven when the skewer comes out clean, setting the two trays on top of the oven and leaving them to cool a little before turning them out. He creams butter and beats it into his chilled filling, adding a splash of almond extract to the mix and returning it to the fridge.  
He clears down his counter and is about to turn out his cakes when Nick and Peggy come over to his counter with the camera crew.  
They smile and say hello, and watch carefully while he turns out his cakes, quick and carefully so as not to break them.  
“Oh, well done,” Peggy says cheerfully as he manages to get them out in one piece. “And what are you making for us today?”  
Nick reaches for the sheet of cake and Bucky takes great pleasure in whacking his fingers with a spatula.  
“ _Amandine_ ,” he says cheerfully. Peggy nods expectantly. “I loved prājiturā, uhh, little cakes? When I was growing up. Amandine was always a favourite.”  
Peggy nods appraisingly. “So did your mother make this for you?”  
Bucky bites back a laugh and shakes his head.  
“Nah, she couldn’t cook to save her life!” He glances at the camera. “Mama pare rau,” he says sheepishly.  
“So you’re self taught,” Peggy confirms. Bucky nods but says nothing further on the matter, excusing himself with a smile and nod to check on his chocolate cream.

The judges wander off to question Steve about his bake, and Bucky can’t help but listen as he describes growing up in Brooklyn with his mother, Sarah, who worked all hours as a nurse, but would bring him something from the local bakery on her way home from a night shift.  
Bucky drizzles amaretto liqueur over the bottom layer of cake and lets himself remember, just for a minute, the cofetārie in the centre of town and Sunday afternoon spent there, his little sister with chocolate smeared on her cheeks.  
It’s a good memory, and he lets it fill his senses for a moment. The bittersweet aroma of coffee and chocolate. He scrapes the filling out onto the sheet of cake and spreads it out evenly to the edges. He carefully places the second sheet of cake on top and presses it down until it’s level. He fetches a sharp knife and trims the edges of the cakes before dividing it into twenty four equal sized squares, pausing to check they are uniform with a ruler. He’s finishing his last slice when Steve appears at his side. Bucky glances up. Steve scratches the back of his neck nervously.  
“I just wanted to check you were okay?” Steve mutters.  
Bucky frowns. “Yeah, why?”  
“I wasn’t listening,” Steve blurts out and flushes pink. Bucky sets his knife on the counter and looks at him expectantly. “You just, y’know. Shut down when they asked about your family?”  
Steve looks awkward but determined, and Bucky can’t help but smile.  
“I’m fine, Steve. I just didn’t feel like talking in front of the cameras.”  
Steve nods and takes a step back.  
“Well, if you ever want to talk.” He reverses into his counter and jumps. “Ah. Anyway.”  
Steve points to his uniced cakes and Bucky grins as he stumbles back around the counter.  
He picks up a piece of cut-off cake edge and places it on the edge of Steve’s counter.  
“Thanks,” he says softly.  
Steve turns a darker red and ducks his head, mumbling under his breath.

Bucky gives his chocolate glaze a last stir and starts spooning it on top of his cakes, spreading it to the edges and letting the chocolate drip down the sides.  
His shoulder aches.  
Natasha calls out that there are fifteen minutes remaining and Bucky swears under his breath, grabbing a whisk and whipping the remaining glaze into a light, pale cream. He scoops it into a bag and pipes out a neat little rosette on each cake. He sets down his bag and opens a jar of whole, skinned almonds, setting one into the rosette on each cake.  
He fetches a white ceramic platter from under the counter and sets it on the far right. He picks up a palette knife and carefully transfers each cake to the platter, moving carefully and making sure each one is positioned neatly.  
With the last cake in place he glances up. Luis is shaving chocolate curls over a tray of acid green cakes. Wanda is perched on a stool, drinking a bottle of water. He glances over at Steve, who smiles back at him.

Clint calls time and tells everyone to step away from their bakes. There are a few grumbles and curses. but everyone downs their tools and steps back. People wander to other counters to make impressed or sympathetic noises at the cakes on display.  
Steve has made miniature Boston Cream Pies, each one glossy and perfect to Bucky, though Steve frets quietly about the filling.  
Phil brings the camera team around to get close ups of each display of cakes before sending everyone out while they set up the judging table. They mill around in the courtyard, forming little groups.  
Bucky’s shoulder aches, but he lets Wanda wrap his arm around her, suppressing a flinch when she tugs on his wrist. She tucks her face into his neck while he tugs at her hair and calls her _păpuşă_.  
Phil appears, looking harassed as usual and ushers them back into the Marquee.  
They walk over to their counters and wait for the cameras to set up.  
Clint and Natasha position themselves alongside the judges at the front of the Marquee and do a short piece to camera before calling on the first contestant, and the judging begins.

Alexander is called first, with miniature black forest gateaux that receives approving noises from the judges.  
Pepper is called up next and presents her cake to the judges, a gluten free paleo chocolate brownie stack with raw cacao avocado mousse. Scott sniggers and Luis makes a retching noise. Bucky would hiss at them to be quiet, but he’s too busy struggling with the idea of cavemen making brownies. Peggy finds the mousse bitter and gritty, but compliments her on the presentation. Nick takes one mouthful and flatly declares that he hates it.  
Bruce follows with Banoffee cakes, layers of banana cake with a whipped cream and toffee filling and crushed pecan brittle. Nick has a weakness for banana, and gruffly declares the cake ‘good’ to Bruce's quiet pleasure.  
Steve is called up next with his tray of miniature Boston Cream Pies. Nick gruffly admits that the cake is well baked and the filling rich and smooth, but dislikes the finish. Peggy dismisses his complaints and tells Steve to be proud of his work. Steve mumbles his thanks and takes his cakes back to his table, giving Bucky a surreptitious little salute as he walks past.  
Jane is called to the judging table with little round blueberry cakes filled with layers of lemon mousse. Peggy compliments her on the flavours while Thor cheerfully heckles every time Nick opens his mouth. Jane blushes furiously and hisses at him to shut up.  
Darcy follows with triple chocolate cake bars that Nick describes as over sweet while Peggy smiles and suggests that he might be missing the point.  
Bucky is called up next. He takes a deep breath, grits his teeth and carries his platter of amandine to the judges table. Peggy compliments him on their uniform shape and size before taking a bite. Nick complains that he was too heavy handed with the alcohol. Bucky can’t help but snort at that and Peggy grins at him and loudly proclaims that the alcohol is perfect. Bucky winks at her and picks up his platter, holding it out to Clint and Natasha to help themselves before going back to his counter.

Thor brings raspberry ripple layer cakes to the judges, and waits patiently for Natasha to finish eating her Amandine before setting his wooden board down. Peggy loves his cakes, from the crushed raspberry filling to the celtic knot pattern he has drawn on each iced surface. Thor kisses her hand and makes her blush, snatching up his board and walking away before Nick has the chance to make a comment.  
T'Challa presents perfect squares of Hummingbird cake, made with banana, crushed pineapple and ground pecans and filled and iced with cream cheese frosting. The judges fall silent as they eat, Peggy offering a murmured ‘perfect’ at the end.  
Scott brings his red velvet cakes to the front. He winces when Nick calls his cakes ugly, but Peggy commends him on the flavour before he grabs his cake stand and hurries back to his counter.  
Wanda is called up with her display stand of miniature Dobos torte, thin discs of sponge cake layered with chocolate buttercream and caramel, the edges covered in ground almonds. Peggy adores them. Nick says nothing, but there is something like a smile tugging the corner of his mouth.  
Luis comes last with his fluorescent green grasshopper cakes. The cakes are soaked in crème de menthe, which Nick hates. Peggy’s eyes light up with her first mouthful, and Luis clicks his tongue at her and promises to get her drunk. Clint drags him back to his counter while Luis holds his hand to his ear, thumb and little finger extended while he mouths ‘call me’.

Phil scowls at Luis and tells him to behave himself before announcing a break for lunch while the judges deliberate. The contestants walk down to the catering van, offering congratulations and commiserations to each other as they go.  
They queue for their lunch and sit down at the trestle tables to eat pasta and worry about how the judging is going. Scott pokes at his penne disconsolately, convinced he’s about to be eliminated. Darcy starts a betting pool for who will win and Bucky puts a fiver down for Steve, who shoves at him and tells him not to waste his money. Luis bets a fiver on Steve too, but is called away by Phil to do a piece to camera before Steve can argue with him.  
Bucky nudges Steve in the ribs.  
“You’re gonna win this, Steve,” he says softly. Steve shakes his head.  
“C’mon, Buck,” he grumbles.  
“I’m serious. You’ll be in the finals.” Bucky watches him shake his head and smile. “Fine, don’t believe me. But I got money riding on you now, so don’t screw up.”  
Steve chuckles. “Sure thing, Buck.”  
Luis and Phil return and Bucky gets summoned to do his piece to camera. Phil directs him to one of the sycamore trees around the estate and makes him shuffle around until he’s happy with the background. He flips through his notes and tells Bucky to look at him rather than the camera.

_Bucky looks nervous, shifting from foot to foot, both hands behind his back._  
“Yeah, well. ‘Get a hobby’ they said. As part of the rehabilitation.”  
He holds up his left hand and flexes the silvery fingers, tapping the thumb to the tip of each finger, one after the other, with ease borne of long practice.  
“Develop my motor skills and strengthen the neural link between brain and prosthesis,” his mouth twists in something not dissimilar to a smile. “The only thing I was ever really good at was hitting targets from really f… from far away.”  
He shifts again, thrusting his hands into his pockets and looking anywhere but the camera.  
“When I was a kid we, my mama, my sister and me, we would go to a… like, a patisserie for cakes?” he bites the inside of his cheek. “When I was out there I kept thinking about them. Daydreaming about plăcinta and papanasi. I got back and couldn’t find them anywhere,” He shrugs. “So I learned how to make them.”  
He smiles then, eyes cast down, head bowed.  
“It’s good. It tastes like home.” 

Bucky walks back to the group and drops down into the empty seat next to Bruce.  
“Ugh,” he mutters emphatically.  
Bruce gives him a sympathetic smile and they sit in comfortable silence while Luis ponders why some cakes are called pies but pies are never called cakes. Before he can get to the thorny matter of cheesecake, Phil arrives and directs them back to the Baking Marquee.  
Stools have been arranged at the front again, and they quietly take their seats, Bucky and Luis sit either side of Scott, and Steve sits on Bucky’s other side. Bucky does his best not to read anything into it, but presses briefly against Steve’s side and is comforted when he gently pushes back.  
Clint and Natasha take turns explaining for the cameras that the judges have made their decision on the best and worst baker of the day. The best will be announced ‘Star Baker’ and the worst will be eliminated from the competition.  
There is a painful pause while the camera pans across their nervous expressions, and Peggy announces that the Star Baker for the round is T'Challa. He bows his head silently while Thor thumps him on the back and Luis whoops.  
Nick calls the group to order and announces the worst baker of the weekend, Pepper.  
Luis is unexpectedly tactful, and everyone gets up to hug each other and congratulate T'Challa and express sympathy to Pepper. She handles the rejection well, though Bucky is willing to bet that she’ll be calling them all every name under the sun soon enough.  
Peggy makes a beeline for Steve and wastes no time in giving him a hug and congratulating him, telling him how well he did. Nick gruffly informs Wanda that she was a close contender for Star Baker, but T'Challa’s flavours were better. She smiles and nods, but calls him a number of unsavoury things in Sokovian under her breath to Bucky when he walks off. Bucky understands maybe half of what she says, but enough to get the gist and does his best not to laugh until Nick is out of earshot.  
Steve taps his arm and quietly asks if it’s okay to get a hug. Bucky pulls him close, trying not to think about the solid muscle moving underneath Steve’s too-tight grey t-shirt.

Phil checks that the camera crew have everything they need before getting everyone's attention. He starts handing out sheets of paper for next week's challenges, giving them deadlines and dire warnings as he goes.  
Bucky accepts his papers with a nod and flicks through them. Bread. He lets out a relieved sigh. He can do bread. He glances at Steve, who is already frowning at his notes and making plans.  
Luis comes barrelling over to him, dragging Scott in his wake.  
“Fuckin’ pretzels, man!” he yells with a grin. Phil grimaces. Despite repeated instructions to moderate his language, an excited Luis is not a family TV- friendly Luis. It’ll be a miracle if he gets any screen time.  
Bucky gives Scott a one-armed hug, getting a clumsy pat on the back in return.  
“I’m still here,” Scott mutters, shocked.  
“Yeah, you’re still here,” Bucky agrees.

Phil ushers them out to the manor house, where they meet Maria with their luggage and mobile phones. She hands out forms for them to sign and itinerary for the following week, along with reminders to keep the events of the competition to themselves.  
Luis grabs Bucky’s phone and keys in his number, sending himself a text and telling Bucky to keep in touch. Bucky flashes a grin at Steve and holds out his phone. Steve flushes pink and takes it, adding his number to the contact list before giving it back and saying goodbye, picking up his case and getting into his taxi.  
Bucky checks his phone and sees a missed call from Falsworth and several garbled but enthusiastic texts from Dugan. He sends Dugan a text back letting him know he’s made it through to the second round and pockets it before getting into his taxi.  
He stares unseeing out the window as the car trundles down the gravel drive and turns onto the main road, lost in his thoughts. His phone pings.

 **Steve:** _pretzels? Really?!_

Bucky chuckles and sits back, thumbs sliding over the keys. He thinks of covrigi and the crunch of poppyseeds.

\----------

Chocolate Beetroot Cake

200g raw beetroot, finely grated  
3 eggs  
150g sugar  
150g ground hazelnuts/almonds  
130g plain flour  
50g cocoa powder  
100g plain chocolate  
250ml cream  
2 tsp baking powder

Preheat oven to 160°C/325°F/G3. Grease a 23cm cake tin and dust with cocoa.  
Heat cream and chocolate together until the chocolate has melted. Set aside to cool. Separate the eggs and whisk the whites into soft peaks. In a separate bowl combine the remaining ingredients and stir in the chocolate cream. Fold in the egg whites. Pour into the cake tin and bake for 1 hour, or until a skewer inserted into the centre comes out clean, if a bit purple. Leave to stand for five minutes before removing from tin.


	2. Bread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Uhh. Wrong tree,” Bucky says hesitantly.  
> “Wrong orchard,” Wanda adds.  
> “I don’t…” Steve says helplessly.  
> “Bucky prefers boy trees,” Wanda says with a smirk while Bucky covers his face with his hand and swears under his breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, it's bread week!  
> Special thanks to the ever fabulous Queenofthewips for Hungarian bread recipes, and Eidheann for knocking my grammar into shape. With a really big hammer.

Chapter 2 - Bread 

The taxi deposits Bucky outside the hotel. He picks up his bag and crunches his way up the gravel drive to the entrance, pushing his way through the door and looking around the foyer until he spies Maria near the reception desk. Bucky gives her a wave when she glances up at him and makes a note in her file.   
“Barnes,” she says. Bucky’s not sure if she’s saying hello or wishing him a slow and painful death. Probably both.  
“Hey, Maria.” He tosses her his phone. She snatches it out of the air and pockets it. Bucky is pretty sure she’s some sort of ninja, or maybe a spy working undercover as a harassed TV show producer.  
“Any changes to your recipes?” she asks.  
“Nope.” Bucky shakes his head.  
“Any questions?” She grabs a key from the receptionist and hands it over to him.  
“BUCK!” Luis comes charging through the foyer.  
“Uh… help?” Bucky asks, grabbing his keys.  
Maria shakes her head and smirks when Luis tackles Bucky to the ground, the prosthetic arm thunking loudly on the polished wood floor.  
“Fuckin’ pretzels, man!” Luis exclaims, hugging him with surprising strength.  
“Can’t breathe, Luis,” Bucky wheezes.   
Luis loosens his grip and Bucky takes a grateful breath, patting him on the back.  
“Sorry, buddy.” Luis raps his fist on the metal shoulder. “This thing makes you a bit top heavy, huh?”  
Bucky nods and waits patiently for Luis to get up and help him to his feet. Luis trades his phone for a room key and together they walk to the stairs with their bags, Luis chattering about _Pupusa_ and _Sopaipilla_. Luis slaps Bucky on the back before heand heads off to his own room down the corridor. 

Bucky unlocks the door and drops his bag on the floor, kicking the door shut behind him and walking over to the bed. He flops face down on the mattress. He only intends to lie down for a minute, but it’s been a shitty week and he doesn’t realise he’s dozed off until there’s a soft knock at the door.   
“Ugh,” he informs the door.  
It opens a crack and Steve pokes his head through. Bucky suppresses a groan and waves a hand.  
“Hey, Steve,” he mumbles.  
“Hey, Buck. You okay?”  
“Fuckin’ peachy.”  
“You coming to dinner?” Steve asks softly.  
Bucky sits up with a grimace and stumbles to the bathroom to wash his face, reappearing after a moment.  
“Presentable?” He gestures to himself.  
Steve bites back a smile. “Very.”  
Bucky does not read anything in that statement, shoving Steve into the hallway and locking the door behind him.

They walk down to the stairs in comfortable silence, shoulders bumping together occasionally. Down in the foyer the other contestants are starting to gather. Thor and Jane arrive hand in hand, Jane looking embarrassed and Thor like a giant, delighted labrador. Wanda makes her way over to give Bucky a hug.  
“ _Tata_ ,” she murmurs.  
Bucky hugs her back. “Păpuşă,” he says softly.  
Steve watches them carefully, a wrinkle forming on his brow.  
“Are you two...” he asks hesitantly.   
Bucky snorts and Wanda presses her fingers to her mouth, trying not to laugh. Steve frowns at them and Bucky sighs. Well, the guy was gonna find out eventually.   
“Uhh. Wrong tree,” Bucky says hesitantly.  
“Wrong orchard,” Wanda adds.  
“I don’t…” Steve says helplessly.  
“Bucky prefers boy trees,” Wanda says with a smirk while Bucky covers his face with his hand and swears under his breath. “Also, he’s twice my age,” she adds.  
Steve’s jaw drops. “Oh,” he says quietly.  
Wanda nods. “Oh,” she agrees.  
Bucky wishes really hard for the earth to swallow him whole. Damned smart mouthed kid. Damned stupid, beautiful man.  
Maria calls for everyone's attention and leads them out of the hotel to the nearby restaurant. It’s not the earth swallowing him whole, but it’ll have to do.   
Wanda wraps an arm around his waist.  
“At least he knows now,” she says cheerfully.  
“I hate you,” Bucky grumbles without malice.  
“Tata, you love me,” she counters.   
Bucky sniffs but doesn’t disagree.

They file into the restaurant and Maria shepherds them around like lost and occasionally very vocal sheep. Wanda sits next to Bruce and Bucky sits opposite her, Luis flopping down on his right. He manages to not jump out of his skin when Steve sits down on his other side, flashing him a small smile and fiddling with his cutlery. Wanda kicks Bucky's shin under the table and grins at him. He scowls at her, but it only makes her happier. Damnit.  
Steve asks about his Signature Bake, so Bucky ignores Wanda in favour of talking about pretzels. Being a New Yorker, Steve is only familiar with big, soft pretzels and the tiny, oversalted crunchy ones that came in bags, so he’s curious to see what everyone will be making.   
They talk quietly over dinner, pausing when Thor regales the group with the heroic tale of his first date with Jane. Bucky is mildly disappointed that there was no wrestling bears or sacking monasteries involved.

When the plates are cleared away, people start leaving for the hotel in ones and twos, wary of the early start in the morning. Bucky starts to doze off and feels Steve’s hand, large and warm, press between his shoulder blades.  
“C’mon, Buck,” he murmurs, getting to his feet.  
They say goodnight, leaving Luis and Darcy coming up with terrible ideas for salted caramel. Wanda declines to come along, giving Bucky an exaggerated wink. He pokes his tongue out at her and lets Steve guide him out of the restaurant and up the winding lane back to the hotel.  
They ascend the stairs quietly, walking along the corridor to Bucky’s room. He stops at the door to say goodnight and pauses, taking in Steve’s tense shoulders and wrinkled brow.  
“You okay, Stevie?” Bucky asks quietly. A small part of him worries, he can’t help it.  
Steve nods, his expression clearing.  
“Yeah. Just…” he hesitates, looking down at his clasped hands. “Thanks. For telling me,” He smiles briefly. “About the trees.”  
Bucky takes his keys out of his pocket, turns them over, his metal fingers tapping against the keyfob.  
“You okay about it?” he asks hesitantly. “Me liking… trees?”  
Steve nods but says nothing, and Bucky tries not to watch the muscles in Steve’s jaw twitch.  
“You sure?” Bucky presses, because he’s an idiot.  
Steve nods emphatically.  
“Okay, then.” Bucky gives him a gentle pat on the arm. “Go get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”  
Steve nods and turns away, and Bucky does not watch him walk down the hallway, doesn't check to see if he glances back. He unlocks the door, goes into his room and gets ready for bed.   
He sleeps fitfully but doesn’t remember his dreams. Frankly it’s a fuckin’ blessing.

The alarm call goes off at 5.30am, just as Bucky is pulling on his shoes. He heads out the door, locking up behind him, and makes his way downstairs to the dining room.   
Bruce is already up, eating his usual fruit salad. Wanda is sat with him drinking coffee. Bucky pours himself a coffee from the laden breakfast bar, grabbing a plate and putting a croissant on it. He walks over to their table and sets the plate down in front of Wanda with a pointed look. She rolls her eyes at him but tears off a corner and pops it in her mouth. Bucky gets himself some toast and joins them, scratching hard lumps of butter over the bread and shoving it into his mouth.   
The room fills up with contestants, Luis and Darcy trailing in last, both grumbling about the early hour and clinging to their cups of coffee. Steve doesn’t appear at all, much like last weekend. Bucky frowns and glances at the door. Wanda smirks at him.  
“Steve goes for a run in the mornings,” she says innocently.   
Bucky frowns at her. “Eat your damn breakfast,” he mutters.  
When Maria herds them out of the dining room to the waiting taxis, Bucky snags a pain au chocolat and wraps it in a napkin. He hangs around the entrance watching people get into the taxis until he sees Steve clattering down the stairs, hair wet from the shower.  
He thrusts the wrapped pastry into Steve’s hand.   
“Uh, hey Buck,” Steve says, taking the bundled napkin.  
“Quit skipping breakfast,” Bucky retorts.  
Maria snaps at them and they’re hurried into the last cab.  
Steve unwraps his pastry and utters a soft thanks, a smile tugging at his lips. Bucky kicks his ankle and tells him to eat the damn thing already. Steve huffs out a laugh and takes a bite while Bucky resolutely stares out the window and does not watch Steve eat. He bites the inside of his cheek and crosses his legs, praying to any god that will listen that his body doesn’t do anything embarrassing.

They arrive at the estate, where Phil is waiting to greet them and direct them to the Baking Marquee. They mill around drinking tea and coffee, checking they have their recipes and ingredients sorted and trying to stay out of the camera crews way.  
Clint and Natasha arrive and pick up on the situation with Thor and Jane, cornering them immediately. Steve bristles visibly at the interrogation, and Bucky can’t blame him. The camera crew have been hovering around the pair since they first arrived, much to Jane's discomfort. Bucky says nothing, but keeps a wary eye on the situation.

The judges arrive, Nick in his black leathers and Peggy in a vintage suit that shows off her hourglass figure.   
Phil waves everyone into position and the contestants stand in front of their counters, one less with Pepper’s departure the previous week. Their positions have been shifted around, so Bucky finds himself alongside Steve and behind Luis. Darcy is behind him, and whistles every time he bends down to check the oven. He growls at her, but it just seems to encourage her. He can hear Steve chuckling softly every time she tells him to shake his tail feathers, so it’s not a complete loss.  
Clint and Natasha take turns talking to the camera, describing the bread focused challenges over the coming weekend. They hand over to the judges, and Nick warns the contestants that bread is his lifelong passion, and he will be pulling no punches.   
Bucky resists the urge to roll his eyes. Peggy doesn’t.  
Peggy describes the first challenge and gives the contestants two hours to make six sweet and six savoury pretzels. The camera pans around the room for reaction shots and everyone tries not to look like they were told about the challenge a week ago.  
The timer is set, and they get to work.

Bucky starts weighing out ingredients for his covrigi, bringing them together into a dough and kneading it until it’s smooth and elastic. He puts the dough into a clean bowl, covers it with clingfilm and sets it to one side while he makes his sweet dough. He glances over at Steve, who is kneading his own dough. Bucky’s mind stutters for a minute as Steve rolls the dough into a ball, pressing the heel of his hand into the centre and pushing out, his arms flexing as the muscles move under his tight white t-shirt.  
“Mind outta the gutter, Barnes,” Natasha clips as she walks past.   
Bucky jumps and nearly drops his dough. He scowls at her and she flashes him a predatory grin. Damnit.   
He looks down at his dough, takes a deep breath and pushes the heel of his hand into the centre, stretching it out across the counter and rolling it back, repeating the process until it’s smooth and elastic. He drops it into a bowl, covers it and sets it to one side.  
He washes his hands, preps some baking sheets and preheats the oven.   
He checks his savoury dough, turning it out onto the counter and giving it a quick knead. He divides it into six and rolls each piece into a fat sausage, twisting them into circles and arranging them on the baking tray. He washes them with egg white and scatters them with rock salt and poppyseed before putting them in the proving drawer.

Bucky glances over at Steve and sees him making his pretzels, picking the ropes of dough and twisting them into their distinctive shape with practiced ease. He places the shape on a baking tray and glances up, catching Bucky’s eye and smiling. Bucky winks and Steve snorts, turning away and getting back to his bakes.  
Bucky checks on Luis, who is talking to Clint. Well, at Clint, who has the wall-eyed look of someone who has asked Luis a question and is now regretting it. 

He washes his hands and preps more baking sheets. Then he divides his sweet dough into six, rolls one out into a sausage shape, folds it in half and twists it into a rope. He pinches the ends together into a ring and lays it on a baking sheet. He works quickly, lost in thought as he rolls and twists and shapes the dough. He hears Steve clear his throat and glances up.   
Aw, crap. Peggy and Nick are at the end of his counter with a camera crew. Peggy smiles at him while Nick reaches out to touch his breads. Bucky snatches up the palette knife he keeps for when Clint starts sniffing around for unguarded chocolate and thwacks the counter just to the left of Nick’s fingers. Nick doesn’t flinch, but freezes before slowly withdrawing his fingers. Peggy chuckles and gives Nick a pointed look before turning to Bucky.  
“So what are you making today?” she asks, head cocked to one side.  
“ _Colac_ ,” Bucky says, twisting another piece of dough and forming it into a ring before placing on the baking tray.  
Nick makes a slightly strangled noise and Bucky can’t help but grin. He gives the judge a wide eyed, innocent look. “It’s Romanian.”  
Peggy purses her mouth and looks down, her shoulders shaking.  
Bucky rolls out his last piece of dough, twisting it and laying it on the baking tray.  
“So this is your sweet pretzel?” Peggy prompts, ignoring Nick as he pokes at scraps of dough.  
“Yeah, sweetened with honey” Bucky opens the proving drawer and pulls out the tray of savoury pretzels. “These are _covrigi_. Poppyseed and rock salt.”  
Peggy makes approving noises and Bucky puts the tray back in the drawer.  
“Well I’ve never heard of either of these, so I’m looking forward to eating them,” she says with a smile. Bucky grins at her, because the woman is a damned treasure.   
Nick is stretching out a spare piece of dough and holding it up to the light. He hums to himself and drops it on the counter, making no comment. Peggy tuts at him and leads him to the next counter, where Darcy starts questioning Peggy on where she gets her vintage clothes and Nick audibly sighs.

Bucky brushes honey over the colac and swaps them for the covrigi in the proving drawer. He puts the savoury pretzels in the oven and sets the timer.  
He washes his hands, getting the worst of the dough and honey out from between the metal plates with a nail brush before carefully drying it off.  
He glances around the room. Wanda is sat cross legged in front of her oven, humming to herself.   
Luis is stirring chipotle paste into melted chocolate, Natasha is leaning against his counter and eating her way through the pile of chocolate chips he’s set aside for her.  
Steve is finely grating mature cheddar. He glances over at Bucky and makes a circle with his thumb and forefinger, a questioning look on his face. Bucky nods in response and Steve goes back to his cheese.  
He absently rubs at his shoulder. Breadmaking is always tough on it, the prosthesis is heavy and the join between technology and flesh isn’t exactly elegant or refined. It gives him backache on a good day, but with the kneading and being hunched over a counter it gets pretty aggravated. He runs through some physio, vaguely aware of a camera on him while he’s sat on the floor doing crossover arm stretches.   
The timer goes off and he checks the bake, opening the oven door and giving them a quick prod. He fetches a cooling rack and takes the tray out of the oven, picking up his palette knife and transferring the browned twists onto the rack. He drops the tray in the sink and pulls the sweet versions out of the proving drawer and transfers them to the oven. It’s only when he’s setting the timer that he realises he used his prosthetic to take the tray out of the oven, completely forgetting about using a tea towel. Damnit.  
He glances at the cameraman and resists the urge to make a rude gesture with the prosthetic. Phil would never let him hear the end of it.

He cleans the counter and washes up, keeping himself busy until the timer goes off again. He checks the oven and decides to give them another minute, fetching another cooling rack and setting it down. He opens the oven door and pulls out the baking tray, deliberately not bothering with a cloth this time, because fuck it.   
The bakes look good, so he transfers them onto the rack and cleans up, washes the last few items and gets out a wooden display board.   
He transfers the bakes to the board, arranging them neatly. He glances around the room. No one seems to be having any panic attacks or disasters. Some people have made an effort with their presentation, Darcy has some sort of vintage frosted glass number, Bruce a large wicker tray. Even Steve has a checkered red cloth in a basket for his pretzels. Traitor.  
Natasha calls out that there are five minutes remaining, and Bucky walks around his counter, swinging his arm back and forth to loosen it up.  
Clint calls time, and everyone still fiddling with their pretzels steps away.  
The camera team go around the room getting shots of everyone's bakes, with the contestants sat awkwardly in the background. Bucky leans against the counter instead of taking the offered chair, tapping his metal fingers on the countertop.  
Phil calls everyone into position, and the judging begins.

The judges approach Scott’s counter first and try his salted pretzels, finding them a little tough and overbaked. The sweet cherry pretzel with lemon icing goes down much better.  
Wanda follows with _kommenskringler_ , a Danish pretzel sprinkled with caraway seed which Nick grudgingly approves of, and a marzipan filled twisted pretzel topped with almonds and spiced icing sugar that Peggy delights in. Natasha makes an odd little noise when she takes a bite of one and won’t let Clint or anyone else near the rest of them.  
Jane is next with a sun dried tomato and oregano savoury pretzel, which the judges like well enough, and a cinnamon and raisin sweet pretzel that Nick dismisses as formulaic. Thor takes offence to the remark.  
Once Thor has been calmed down, the judges approach Luis, who immediately offers Peggy a shot of tequila to go with her lime and sea salt savoury pretzel. She merrily drinks the shot and takes a bite of pretzel, holding her glass out for a refill. Nick refuses the tequila, and scowls when Peggy offers to drink it for him. The sweet pretzels are coated in dark chocolate and chilli, and Peggy will not have a word said against them.   
Alexander is next with Bavarian lye pretzels. Nick compliments him on the chewy texture and finish. The sweet pretzels are scattered with confectioners sugar, though Peggy comments that some sugar wouldn’t have gone amiss in the dough too.  
Bruce follows with a savoury masala pretzel topped with mustard seed, which the judges like. His sweet pretzel is _trdelník_ , a Czech bake crusted with sugar and ground walnuts. Peggy loves them, and Nick mutters something complimentary under his breath. T’Challa is next with beautifully made New York pretzels, one salted and one chocolate. Neither judge can fault him on his execution.  
Steve is the next contestant visited by the judges. Bucky gives him a thumbs up and he nods nervously, managing a smile as they approach. They both like his Pennsylvania S shaped pretzels topped with brown mustard and sharp cheddar. His sweet versions are gingerbread drizzled with white and dark chocolate, Clint eats two of them.  
The judges proceed to Thor’s counter and he scowls at Nick, still unimpressed by his comments on Jane’s baking. The comments made on his pretzels are mostly ignored.  
Darcy is next, her sweet chilli pretzels are overbaked and Nick insists he can’t taste the green tea in her matcha pretzels.  
With that, the judges turn to Bucky.  
He squares his shoulders and gives Peggy a nervous smile. She rests her hand on his arm briefly.  
“You’ll have to tell me what these are again, I can’t possibly get the name right,” she says softly, putting him at ease.  
“Covrigi and colac,” he says with a smile, speaking the names slowly until she manages to repeat them back to him.   
“Desăvârşit,” he tells her. “Perfect.”  
They try the two bakes, Nick quietly noting the good kneading and proving, Peggy commenting on the flavours.   
“Desăvârşit,” she tells him, stumbling a little over the pronunciation, though Bucky is grinning too hard to care.

The filming stops and the contestants gather around each other's counters, trying the bakes and reassuring each other as it starts to rain, the pattering of raindrops loud on the Marquee roof.  
Steve brings his pretzels over to Bucky’s counter and they tear off pieces of each other's bakes, chewing and watching the other contestants milling around while Steve repeats soft vowel sounds and diacritics to himself until he can confidently name the pastries he’s eating out loud. He looks so pleased with himself that Bucky teaches him a few good swear words too.  
Luis brings over a chocolate chilli pretzel for them to try, and helps himself to a covrigi, which he splits with Scott while they ponder who won the challenge.

Phil sends them out into the drizzle to get lunch while the Marquee is set up for the next challenge and they head across the field to the catering.  
They huddle together around the tables to eat overcooked rice and guess what the Technical Challenge will be. Thor keeps an arm wrapped loosely around Jane, who seems more at ease away from the cameras. Alexander is speaking softly to Steve, who looks unsettled, his brow wrinkling. Bucky has to fight down the urge to go over and move the older man along. Instead he keeps his head down and pokes at the remaining food on his plate, half listening to Scott and Luis squabbling affectionately over bagels.   
Steve ends his conversation with Alexander and pointedly gets up and walks over, sitting down heavily in the seat next to Bucky, his arms folded across his chest. Bucky rests a hand on his back and asks if he’s okay, but Steve just gives him a weak smile and a dismissive shake of his head. Bucky doesn’t press the issue but keeps his hand in place, his thumb rubbing soothing circles at the nape of Steve’s neck.  
Phil comes over occasionally to pick out contestants for some one on one interviews, hauling around an umbrella with him to keep off the rain.  
When the lunch hour is up they are all summoned back to the tent and the next challenge.

The counters are set up with ingredients and a list of basic instructions turned face down on the countertops. The contestants take their places and look expectantly at the front of the Marquee where the hosts and judges are assembled.   
The cameras start rolling and Natasha introduces the Technical Challenge, describing to the audience how the bakers have been given basic instructions, but will have to rely on their baking know-how to complete the task.  
Nick steps forward and introduces the challenge with a smirk that makes everyone nervous: a _Kalakukko_.  
Bucky frowns and glances around and sees the confused looks on everyone's faces. He raises his eyebrows at Steve who shrugs at him and shakes his head.   
Peggy gives a brief description of Kalakukko, a Finnish rye bread filled with fish and bacon, and five hours to make it in. Since the Technical Challenge is judged blind Nick and Peggy are sent off and the challenge begins.   
Bucky turns over his sheet of paper and reads through the recipe. It’s a short list of ingredients, no cooking times or oven temperatures or instructions. On the counter in front of him is rye and plain flour, butter, salt, some streaky bacon and a small heap of whole sardines.  
He stares at the instructions for a minute, his mind a blank. He looks over at Steve, who looks as lost as he is.   
“Like a… Cornish Pasty?” he asks eventually. Steve raises a hand in a vague gesture of agreement.  
“Like a Cornish Pasty,” Steve finally says with a nod.

Bucky measures out the flours and butter into a large bowl and rubs them together to make fine breadcrumbs. He stirs in salt and adds half the water, mixing with his fingers. He adds the remaining water a little at a time until he has a sticky dough, turning it out onto the counter and kneading it. It’s slow and time consuming, the rye dough tacky and difficult to work with, more of it on his hands than on the work surface.   
Bucky perseveres, the ache in his shoulder becoming a slow burn until he has a soft but workable dough. He uses a palette knife to scrape as much of the dough as he can into a bowl and sets it to one side.  
Bucky washes his hands, the prosthetic caked in rye and difficult to clean. He dries them off, checking the room. Luis is whistling to himself and kneading his dough with a palette knife rather than his hands. Scott is attempting to copy him.   
Bucky massages his shoulder and watches Steve sorting through his fish. The guy must have eyes in the back of his head because he looks up like he knows Bucky is watching. He frowns, looking concerned, and mouths ‘Okay?’ Bucky nods, though Steve doesn’t look convinced.

Bucky goes back to his bake, putting the fish in the sink and giving them a clean. He debates what to do with them. Is he supposed to fillet them or use them whole?  
He holds each fish under running water and descales them with back of a knife, scraping it along the body from tail to head. By the time he’s finished his back is aching too, so he decides to leave them whole rather than mess about deboning the damn things.  
He preheats the oven and scatters flour onto the counter, pressing out the dough into a large circle. He lays out a layer of bacon and then places the descaled fish on top, gathering the dough around them, pressing and crimping until he has a flattened round loaf. He places the loaf seam side down on a baking tray and puts it in the oven. After a moment of indecisiveness he sets the timer for one hour and washes the worst of the flour off his hands. Bucky sits heavily on the floor in front of his oven and leans back against the counter behind him. He should clean up, he knows, but he aches everywhere, a burning line across his shoulders and down his spine.

There is movement in the corner of his eye, and Steve appears in his field of vision with two cups of coffee. He hands one over and Bucky can’t help the noise that escapes him.  
Steve sits down on the floor next to him with his own coffee and joins Bucky in staring at the oven door.  
“You fillet your fish?” Bucky asks after a moment.  
“No, I think the bones soften when you cook them?” Steve says quietly. Bucky hums in agreement, he’s pretty sure he’s read the same thing somewhere.  
“I really don’t want to eat this thing,” Bucky whispers, making Steve choke on his coffee.  
“Me neither,” Steve admits.  
They stare at the oven for a while longer.  
“I could, if you wanted…” Steve begins, stumbling over his words. “Your back. It’s giving you trouble? I could…” Steve makes a vague gesture with his hand.  
Bucky suppresses a shiver. As much as he’d like getting Steve’s hands on him, the thought of him touching the twisted mass of scar tissue and metal of his shoulder makes him feel sick. The pitying looks and well-meaning questions. He rubs at his shoulder absently.  
“Nah,” Bucky says after being silent for too long. “It’s kind of a mess.” he gives Steve an apologetic glance. “Thanks.”  
Steve nods, but doesn’t push. “If you change your mind,” he says softly. Okay, he pushes a little bit. 

Bucky shifts, trying to get comfortable, and changes the subject.  
“So you’re an artist,” he says pointedly.   
Steve takes a sip of coffee and lets the subject change.  
“Yeah. Mostly illustrations, book covers and some commission work,” he says, fiddling with his mug.  
“Pay the bills?” Bucky asks. Steve nods. “Make you happy?”  
Steve glances at him and smiles.   
“Yeah.” He swirls the dregs of his coffee around. “Clients can be a nightmare sometimes, and burnout… working through that is tough. Making art that you feel nothing for is–-” he hesitates.  
“Fucked up?” Bucky offers.  
Steve coughs out a laugh. “Yeah. But otherwise it’s good. It’s great.”  
Bucky bumps their shoulders together and Steve smiles again, bright and beautiful.   
“So you gonna do your own cookbook? All your own illustrations?” Bucky asks.  
Steve sits back and sighs. “Yeah, that would be pretty good.”  
They fall into silence for a moment, staring at the oven.  
“What about you, what d’you do?” Steve murmurs, his voice pitched low as the camera crew walk past, getting a brief shot of them sat together on the floor watching the kalakukko bake. Bucky waits until they have moved past before he answers.  
“Guinea pig,” he says finally. Steve frowns at him. “I get disability. Not much but it pays the bills.”  
Bucky rubs at his shoulder and glances at Steve, who sits silently watching him, his expression open and calm. That’s what does it, really. That open, honest face and wide blue eyes. Bucky looks down at his hands and feels the words filling up his mouth.   
There’s no one watching, no one listening in, so he lets them spill out.  
“We were in a convoy, three jeeps. Hit an IED.” He makes a vague gesture with his hand. He’s pretty sure there isn’t a word for ‘The world turned upside down and my mouth was full of sand and my body was on fire and please stop shooting at me I’m pretty sure I’m dead’, so just splays out his fingers.  
“I got crushed under a jeep. Took a long time for the guys to clear the area and get me airlifted.” He scratches his arm absently. “Got a pretty bad infection, a couple of them. But got sent home eventually.”  
He waits for Steve to say something sympathetic, to give him a pitying look. But he keeps his head down, silent and patient.  
“You heard of Stark Industries?” Bucky asks.  
Steve nods. “Advanced technology? Robotics, artificial intelligence, that sort of thing?”  
Bucky nods and rolls up his sleeve to the elbow, holding out his hand for Steve to get a closer look at.  
“They’re leaders in the field of neuroprosthetics and direct neural interface. This thing is an advanced prototype with a neural link. I think, it does,” he flexes his fingers to demonstrate. “I got contacted by Stark when I was in hospital and asked to be a guinea pig.”  
“And they gave you this?” Steve asks, incredulous. Bucky snorts.  
“Nah, this is the third. I had a bad reaction to the first prototype. Sepsis, nasty.”   
Bucky Barnes, master of understatement.  
“Third? You getting an upgrade at some point?” Steve lifts a hand and gives Bucky a glance, only touching the metal plates when Bucky nods.  
“They’re doing some interesting stuff with carbon fibers and graphene now. Most of the issues with this thing comes from the weight, puts a strain on the body.”  
Steve runs a fingertip over Bucky’s forearm, down to the wrist.  
“Shame, I like the silver,” he says quietly. Bucky snorts.  
“This is my last. Each upgrade means cutting into healthy tissue and this one ends about here,” Bucky runs his thumb in a curve around the ball of his shoulder. “Another would put my lung at risk.”  
Steve cradles the metal fingers in his palm, tracing the ridges where the plates overlap. The cool metal slowly warming under his touch.  
“Can you… feel?” Steve asks slowly, carefully choosing his words.  
Bucky spreads his fingers and watches Steve follow the movement, working out how the plates shift and settle.  
“There’s pressure sensors, temperature guages, information interpreted by the brain. Sometimes messages get scrambled,” Bucky frowns. “The itching is the worst. Can’t scratch it. Kind of want to get an angle grinder on there.”  
Steve snorts, drawing a circle with his fingertip on the palm of Bucky’s hand.  
Bucky leans closer, tilting his head until it’s resting on Steve’s broad shoulder. Steve strokes his hand along the metal plates, the movement of his fingers soothing.   
Bucky can’t remember the last time someone handled him gently, or didn’t treat him like a subject for study or a sideshow freak. It’s… nice.

He’s starting to doze when Steve drops his hand suddenly. Bucky flinches and sits upright, watching in confusion as Steve gets to his feet.  
“You okay, Steve?” Bucky asks, slow and half asleep.  
Steve won’t meet his eye and shifts restlessly from foot to foot.  
“I should go check on my…” Steve gestures to his counter.  
Bucky watches as Steve walks away, an odd sensation that he’s missed something, screwed up somehow, sitting low in his gut.  
He stares at the oven for a while, waiting to see if Steve comes back. He doesn’t.  
Eventually he gets to his feet, swinging his arm to loosen his shoulder and cracks open the oven door. There’s a crust forming on the bread, but he’s wary of it burning. He turns down the heat, takes the bake out of the oven and pokes it with a metal finger before covering it with foil and putting it back in to carry on cooking.   
He glances over at Steve, who is talking to Bruce. Steve doesn’t look back.  
Bucky wipes down the counter and picks the mugs up off the floor, washes them out and sets them to one side.   
He sets his timer for an hour and wanders across the Marquee to see what Luis is up to.

Luis is propped against his counter, Scott sitting on a stool next to him looking tired and dejected. Luis brightens up when Bucky approaches.  
“You fillet your fish?” he asks by way of greeting.  
Bucky shakes his head and Luis slaps Scott on the arm.  
“See! He didn’t cut them up either,” he says cheerfully.  
Scott grumbles and shakes his head. Luis turns back to Bucky.  
“Hey, man. Say ‘fuck’,” Luis says.  
Bucky frowns at him. “What?”  
Scott groans and covers his face with his hands.  
“They can’t use anything that has swearing, Family TV. So if you don’t want them recording stuff, say ‘fuck’.”  
Bucky stares at Luis for a moment. Foul mouthed Luis, who they probably have hardly any usable footage of. Bucky lets out a short bark of laughter.  
“Luis, you’re a fuckin’ genius!”  
Scott nods his head at the counter where Thor and Jane are stood, Thor with one arm thrown around Jane's shoulders, the other gesturing expansively towards the camera crew clustered around them. Jane looks uncomfortable with the attention, jaw clenched and shoulders hunched.  
“Think we should let her in on it?” Scott ponders.  
Bucky frowns at the camera crew and nods.

They talk for a while, or rather Luis talks and the other two weather the storm until Bucky’s timer goes off.   
He heads back to his counter and takes his bake out of the oven, peeling off the foil and prodding the dough with a metal finger. He wraps it back up and puts it back in, aware of a camera on him as he does so. He grabs the mugs from the sink and walks over to the kettle in the corner, filling it with water and turning it on. He makes chamomile for Bruce and green tea for Wanda before making two cups of coffee and taking them over to where Steve is sitting on the floor in front of his oven.   
Bucky clears his throat and holds out the coffee, half expecting Steve to turn him away. Instead Steve gives him a soft little smile and takes the cup, murmuring a thank you as he does so.  
Bucky shifts awkwardly. “Sorry,” he says quietly.  
“What for?” Steve asks with a frown.  
Oh. Bucky shrugs. “I don’t know. Stuff I ain’t done yet?”  
Steve snorts and shakes his head.  
“I’ll keep it in mind, Buck,” he says, curling his fingers around his cup.  
Bucky salutes him with his coffee and goes back to his own counter to sit on the floor and glare at his oven a while longer. 

Clint calls out the final ten minutes of the challenge and there is a flurry of activity as everyone takes their kalakukko out of ovens and fret over them.   
Bucky peels off the foil and transfers the bake to a wooden board. It’s an ugly, dark brown colour but at least it has kept its shape and hasn’t leaked piggy fish everywhere.   
Natasha calls time, and directs everyone to place their bakes on the table at the front of the Marquee.  
Bucky picks up his board and takes his terrible fish bread down to the front, where tables have been arranged with a neat row of photos of each contestant facing away from where the judges will stand. Bucky finds his own picture and sets his bake down by it before going over to the row of stools lined up at the table and sitting down next to Wanda. She hooks her hand in his elbow and tucks her head into his shoulder.   
Steve sits on Bucky’s other side, flashing him a brief, tired smile. Before either of them can say anything Nick and Peggy reenter the room, the cameras are put in position and the judging begins. 

Nick and Peggy walk up and down the row of kalakukko. which are surprisingly varied in shape, size and colour. Nick describes a perfect kalakukko as having a chewy crust and a salty, fatty filling. Luis makes a retching noise and most of the group snigger while Alexander scowls.  
Nick approaches the first bake, cutting it open down the middle and poking at the dough, while the contestants try to keep their best poker faces and not give away when it’s their dishes being judged.   
Bucky has a brief moment of pity for Peggy, who doesn’t look thrilled at the prospect of eating any of them. She gamely nibbles at the bakes Nick declares edible and finds something positive to say while Nick dissects the loaves and berates them. Too dry. Undercooked. The fish haven’t been descaled. Too much wheat flour in the dough.   
Natasha keeps herself as far away from the bakes as possible. Whenever Clint offers her a piece she shakes her head, her expression somewhere between alarmed and murderous.  
Bucky feels Wanda tense up when the judges reach her bake, he covers her hand with his own while she buries her face in his neck.  
Nick cuts open the loaf and makes a surprised noise. Wanda peeks out from her hiding place and watches him eat a piece. His only complaint is that the dough hadn’t been wrapped tightly enough around the fish so the steam produced left a large air pocket.   
Nick moves on to the next bake and Wanda goes back to her hiding place in Bucky’s shoulder.  
Steve’s bake is considered passable, but with too much wheat in the dough. Steve sits back in his seat and nods to himself. Bucky presses their shoulders together and Steve’s mouth twitches in response.   
When the judges turn to Bucky’s kalakukko he grits his teeth and waits for the inevitable disaster. Nick cuts into the loaf and pokes at the filling. He grunts noncommittally and cuts a slice. Peggy nibbles at the rye and makes a satisfied noise. Nick mutters ‘good’ under his breath and moves on to the next loaf.   
Bucky lets out a breath, giving Steve a weak smile when he pats Bucky on the back. His hand, broad and warm, lingers for a moment before withdrawing and Bucky feels unsettled by the loss. He blinks and tries to focus on the judges as they cut into Thor’s bake. Nick makes an impressed noise and calls the loaf a good effort. 

The judges rank the kalakukko from worst to best. Scott is unsurprised when his effort is declared the worst and nods quietly while Luis hugs him. Steve comes in fifth, but doesn’t seem unhappy with the result.   
Luis is placed fourth and Bucky frowns to himself. His name hasn’t been mentioned yet. Wanda comes in third and she wraps her arms around Bucky with a muffled squeak and he’s too busy trying to find out what she’s so damned happy about that he misses his name being called out. Steve thumps him on the back and Luis whoops.  
“What?” he says, confused.  
“You won the technical challenge,” Steve explains, a smile lighting up his face.

After a lecture from Phil about proper conduct and language use during filming, with pointed looks at Bucky and Luis, they do a few reshoots of Nick announcing the winner of the technical challenge.   
Phil takes a handful of contestants out to film some talking head shots about how they feel they are doing in the competition while the rest drink coffee and dare each other to try a piece of kalakukko. Thor, who came second, is the first to take up the challenge. Luis joins in, and concludes that kalakukko is ‘a fucked up bagel and lox’.  
Phil interrupts the discussion to take Bucky outside.   
The rain has finally eased off and the damp grass soaks his trainers. Phil stands him up against a stone wall and directs the cameraman while Bucky tugs his long sleeves to his wrists.

_Bucky smiles at the camera and tucks a loose strand of hair behind his ear.  
“Yeah, pretty pleased. Don’t think I’ve actually won anything before. Shame it wasn’t for something I’d, y’know, want to eat.”  
He shoves his hands in his pockets, keeping his eyes down.  
“The people here are…” he hesitates. “Great. I’m lucky, y’know? Lucky to have this opportunity, lucky to know these people.”  
He looks back up at the camera and shakes his head.  
“I didn’t think I’d last a week, really. I mean, Wanda is so gifted, she kicks our… She’ll go far. I come here looking forward to seeing what she’ll come up with next.” He smiles to himself. “And Luis is…” He trails off, shaking his head again.  
He hesitates, looking at something off camera.  
“Whatever happens, I’m lucky to be here.”_

Phil packs the contestants into taxis and sends them back to the hotel. Everyone is quiet and tired, drained from the long day and another day of baking still to come.  
Bucky heads up to his room to take some painkillers and have a hot shower, pressing his face to the tiled wall and letting the water beat against his back, as hot as he can stand.  
He reluctantly turns off the water and climbs out, towelling himself down and forcing his aching body into some stretches until his back loosens up.   
He dresses and makes his way down to the dining room, finding Luis and Scott already seated. He drops into a chair next to Luis and gets manhandled and shouted at for a few minutes, blushing furiously and trying to laugh it off.   
Steve appears, sitting in the empty seat at Bucky’s left, the sensors in his prosthetic register heat and pressure but not the way his heart clatters in his chest.  
The room slowly fills with people and dinner is a loud, messy affair, full of laughter.   
Bucky turns in early, murmuring his goodnights before going up to his room.   
He kicks off his shoes, gets ready for bed and sleeps like the dead.

Bucky wakes up shortly before the morning alarm and drags himself out of bed. His shoulder aches, so he takes his painkillers and goes through his morning physio before getting dressed and packing his bag.  
He goes down to the dining room and finds Wanda and Bruce drinking tea and discussing French baking. He leaves them be while he fetches coffee and stares at the breakfast buffet. The last thing he wants to do is eat bread.   
He picks up an apple and glances around the tables. Alexander is sat with T’Challa, while Thor and Jane are huddled in a corner together. He doesn’t want to intrude on the couple, and he likes T’Challa well enough but Alexander tends to give him nasty looks when nobody's watching.   
Scott arrives and joins him at the buffet table, staring at the pastries and fretting quietly. Bucky presses a Danish pastry on him and tells him he’ll be fine. It’s just a baking competition.  
At 6.15am Maria herds them and their luggage out to the taxis and another day of baking begins.

Phil ushers them into the Baking Marquee and they get set up for the day. The camera crew buzz around Thor and Jane like flies while everyone gets set up, though leave them when they move to their separate counters.  
The judges arrive along with the hosts and Clint calls everyone into positions, and another day of baking begins.  
Clint introduces the Showstopper Challenge, explaining for the cameras that it’s a chance for the bakers to show off their skills and produce something impressive to look at as well as being delicious. Nick steps forward to introduce the challenge itself, twelve flatbreads, two varieties. Each one perfectly baked.   
The camera pans around for reaction shots and Bucky ignores it when it pauses on him.  
Nick gives them a time limit and tells them to get going.

Bucky measures out water and adds salt to it. He weighs out flour, adds yeast and combines the wet and dry ingredients, turning them out onto the counter and starts kneading. His back twinges and he pauses to do a couple of crossover arm stretches, rolling his shoulder and wincing at the ache. He can practically feel the concern radiating from Steve behind him, so he glances over and mouths ‘I’m fine’ before going back to his dough. Steve looks unconvinced, but says nothing.  
Bucky kneads the dough until it’s smooth and elastic, putting it into a bowl and setting it in the proving drawer before moving on to his next bread.  
Bucky weighs out flour and semolina, adding sugar, aniseed, salt and yeast. He adds water and brings the mix together, kneading it until smooth. He drops it into a bowl and puts it in the proving drawer with the other dough, then cleans down the counter and gets out a couple of baking trays.  
He flours the countertop and baking trays, then takes his first batch of dough and divides it into six pieces, giving each a quick knead before stretching them out into equally sized discs and laying them on the trays which go back into the proving drawer.   
He pauses to stretch and rotate his shoulder. Ouch.

Bucky fetches the second lot of dough and divides it into pieces, flattening each one into a thin disc and transferring to baking sheets. He puts them in the proving drawer, which is getting pretty crowded.  
He sets the timer, cleans down the counter and washes his hands, scrubbing dough out from between the metal plates and carefully blotting them dry.  
He glances over at Steve, who is shaping his flatbreads, and goes over to the kettle.  
He makes green tea for Wanda and chamomile for Bruce before making coffee for himself and Steve, carefully placing the cup on the edge of his counter. Steve glances up and smiles at him.  
“You okay, Buck?” he asks softly, reaching for his coffee.  
Bucky nods and turns to go, but Steve has finished rolling out his breads and leans against the counter, cradling the cup to his chest, so Bucky turns back and tries to ignore Steve and his Concerned Face.  
Damnit.  
“I’m fine, Steve. Just sore,” he says firmly.   
They stand in comfortable silence a while, drinking their coffees and watching the other contestants until Bucky’s timer goes off. He gives Steve a rueful smile and goes back to his counter.

Bucky fills up the little deep fat fryer set on his counter and sets the thermometer. He brushes the semolina dough circles with oil and sprinkles with sesame seeds. He pricks each disc with a skewer and puts them in the oven, setting the timer and getting the other flatbreads out of the proving drawer.  
He’s laying out kitchen towel when Nick and Peggy, camera crew in tow, come over to bother him. He flashes a smile at Peggy and slaps Nick’s hand when he reaches for a tray of flatbreads.  
“Hands off, pal,” he mutters.  
Nick grins at him and withdraws his hand.  
“So what are you making for us today,” Peggy asks.  
Bucky keeps half an eye on Nick while he answers her.  
“ _Ksra_ ,” he says, ignoring Nick as he rolls his eyes. “and _lángos_.”  
Peggy looks at Bucky expectantly while Nick mutters under his breath.  
“Ksra is Moroccan, made with semolina and aniseed,” Bucky explains.  
“And langos is Romanian, by any chance?” Peggy asks with a smile.  
Bucky gives her a rueful grin. “Hungarian. It’s fried and covered in sour cream and garlic oil, you get it at fairs and festivals.”  
Peggy nods, looking at the flattened rounds of dough.  
“And this was something you used to eat as a boy?”  
Bucky nods, but says nothing further. Peggy reaches forward and pats him on the arm.  
“It’s always so nice to have these dishes that take you back to your childhood,” she says gently.  
“They’re also pretty good for soaking up beer,” Bucky says in a stage whisper.  
Peggy gives him a wicked grin.  
“Well I look forward to trying them,” she says, finally letting go of his arm.

When the oil gets up to temperature Bucky starts frying the lángos in small batches, using a pair of tongs to flip them over and pull them out of the oil when they’re golden brown. He leaves them to drain on the paper towels while he fries off the next batch.  
Natasha gives a time check and Bucky swears under his breath. He pulls the ksra out of the oven and checks that they’re cooked through before sweeping them onto a cooling rack. He manages to get the lángos sprinkled with garlic oil, spread with sour cream and everything arranged on a board with a minute to spare. Bucky steps back from the counter when Clint calls time with the barely concealed glee of a man determined to eat his own body weight in bread.   
Bucky glances around the room. Luis is drinking coffee, one arm around Scott's shoulders, and clearly giving him a pep talk. Wanda is drinking a bottle of water and talking to Jane. The camera crew are working their way around the room getting shots of each finished bake. Bucky turns around to Steve, who is leaning on the counter and looking worn out.  
“You okay, Stevie?” he asks softly.  
Steve nods and rubs the bridge of his nose. “Yeah. How’s the back?”  
“Sore,” Bucky says ruefully. Steve looks troubled but Bucky shakes his head before the dumb punk can start lecturing him. “It’s fine, I’ve got a check up in a few days. They’ll give me a steroid injection.”   
Steve frowns, which Bucky can’t help but smile at. “It’s fine. You’re so worried, go make me some damn coffee.”  
Bucky raises his eyebrows and Steve snorts at him. “Get your own damned coffee, jerk,” Steve says, trying not to laugh.  
The camera crew finish taking shots of the bakers with their finished breads, Bucky pointedly drinking a cup of coffee that he didn’t make in his own footage, and the judging for the final challenge begins.

Darcy gets called to the front with her breads first. Peggy likes her ras el hanout spiced pitta bread, though Nick describes her onion focaccia as doughy.  
Bruce is next, his cheese stuffed _paratha_ go down well with both judges, and Clint, who eats a whole one to himself. Nick complements the Iranian _babari_.  
Thor follows with a technically accomplished _knackerbrod_ , Nick falling oddly quiet while eating it. His second bake is a bannock made with the addition of barley flour. Peggy praises him on the flavour and texture while Nick chews and silently scowls. Thor beams at them both.  
Bucky is called down next. Steve whispers good luck to him as he passes.   
They try the ksra first, Peggy liking the crunch of semolina and aniseed. Nick calls it ‘a good bake’, which Bucky is pretty sure translates as ‘I’m too vain to admit I like it’.   
They turn to the lángos, Clint swooping in and snatching up a piece before either judge can get near them. Peggy loves them, and says several things that do not make Bucky blush. It’s just the lighting. Nick spills sour cream over the counter, licking his fingers and offering a grudging ‘not bad’.  
Bucky collects up his bakes and returns to his counter, picking up a lángos and dropping it in front of Steve with a conspiratorial wink. Steve goes pink around the ears and murmurs a thank you before tearing off a piece and popping it into his mouth, making a happy little noise while he chews. And Bucky really doesn’t need to think about that.  
T’Challa is next with an Italian _piadine_ and a Syrian onion bread that go down well with the judges.  
Luis comes after with blue corn _pupusa de queso_ , thick handmade tortilla stuffed with fresh cheese. Nick finds the cheese too sharp but Peggy loves them. Clint takes a shine to them as well and eats two. Luis other bake is pumpkin _sopapilla_ , a deep fried Chilean flatbread that Natasha takes a liking to, scowling at Clint when he tries to sneak one into his pocket and snapping her fingers at him until he hands it over.  
Scott is called forward next with his coriander naan and potato farl, which have mixed reviews. Peggy still tells him well done when he takes his plate away.  
The next contestant is Wanda, who presents her fougasse studded with black olives and rosemary. Peggy loves the crust and open texture, and Nick compliments her baking. It’s followed by a Georgian _khachapuri_ , a flatbread stuffed with goats cheese. Nick finds the cheese too strong but Peggy disagrees with him, commending her on the complex flavours. Clint tells her it’s almost as good as pizza and shoves a whole one in his mouth while Natasha calls him disgusting.   
Alexander is next, with rosemary ciabatta and an olive flatbread. The judges can find no fault with the bakes, but Peggy looks a little dissatisfied.  
Jane follows with paper thin _Carta di Musica_ , a Sicilian crispbread so thin it’s almost see through. Nick calls it an excellent bake with even colour and texture, and Jane swears under her breath before apologising, hands clasped over her mouth. She follows with French _Epi_ bread, neatly scissored before baking to resemble ears of corn. Peggy finds them charming but Nick dismisses the breads as doughy while Thor grumbles until Jane tells him to shush.   
Steve is called up last, Bucky whispering words of encouragement as he walks past with his coconut paratha and Turkish _pide_.   
Peggy smiles brightly at him as he sets his platter of flatbreads down, and making him blush with her comments about the balance of flavour in the lime spiked parathas. Nick makes a few favourable comments about the nigella seed studded pide.   
Natasha and Clint take a liking to the paratha, and squabble over them. Steve snags the last one and lays it on the Bucky’s counter on the way back to his own.   
Bucky tears a piece off and chews on it, sweet and sour on his tongue.

The judges retire to confer over the weekends challenges and the contestants walk around, tasting each others bakes. Wanda brings Bucky a khachapuri, which he splits with Steve. It’s salty and rich and he wraps his arms around her and whispers how proud he is of her while she jabs him in the ribs and calls him sentimental. Steve tells her the fougasse is the best he’s tasted and she blushes, which strikes Bucky as unfair. He says nice things to her and all he gets is bruises on his ribs.  
Bucky checks up on Luis and Scott, down the other end of the Marquee.   
Luis is in good spirits, but Scott looks resigned to being eliminated. Bucky tries one of his potato farls, which is tough and underseasoned, but better than any crap he had to eat in the army, so he has no problem swallowing it down. Luis sopapillas are delicious.

Phil sends them out to get lunch and they walk down to the catering van to eat dry chicken and abused broccoli. When Steve sits down next to Bucky with his plate of mistreated poultry, Bucky pulls a paper towel wrapped bundle out of his pocket and puts it on the edge of his plate.  
“Sopapilla,” he explains.  
Steve unwraps the bundle and takes a bite, then spends the rest of lunch asking Luis how to make it.   
“Family recipe, man,” Luis says with a shake of his head.  
Phil collects the last few contestants who haven’t done one on one interviews to camera while the rest of them sit around in their small groups and wonder who will be going home.  
Bucky sits back in his chair and lets the conversation wash over him, the sound of Steve and Wanda debating how to deal with the fat content in cheese affecting a bake on one side, Luis and Scott making tentative steps in opening a place together on the other. He feels, not happy, but something like happiness.  
Which is the moment when Phil shows up and tells them the judges have come to a decision.  
Bucky sighs and gets to his feet. He reminds himself to appreciate the good things when they’re there rather than complain when they end and walks back to the Marquee, Steve in step beside him.

The row of stools are back in their line in front of the waiting judges, and the cameras film them as they file into the Marquee and take their seats. Scott gets tucked between Luis and Bucky, Steve on Bucky’s other side in what has somehow become his usual spot.  
Clint and Natasha congratulate the group on their efforts and explain to the cameras that that the judges have decided on the best and worst bakers of the day, the best will be crowned ‘Star Baker’ and the worst eliminated from the competition.   
Nick makes a point of saying that it was a close run thing, but Bruce is the Star Baker.  
Bruce chokes briefly and manages to stutter out a thank you before Peggy steps forward and announces that the contestant who will be leaving is Scott.  
Scott manages to say something, but Bucky doesn’t catch it. He shouldn’t be shocked that Scott is leaving, but he is.  
People get down from their stools and start to hug each other, some going to Bruce to congratulate him, others to Scott to express sympathy.  
Bucky pushes his way through the crowd and grabs Scott by the shoulders, pulling him into an embrace. Scott pats him on the back and tells him it’s okay. It takes a couple of tries before Bucky believes him and lets go.

Phil checks the camera crew have what they need and starts handing out next week's challenges, giving them deadlines for submitting their recipes and his usual dire warnings.   
Bucky looks through the challenges. Biscuits. He nods to himself, he can do that.  
Steve appears at his shoulder with his own handout.  
“You okay, Buck?” he asks softly.  
Bucky holds up his list of challenges. “What the fuck is a biscuit sculpture?”  
Steve shakes his head. “No idea. You ever eaten snickerdoodles?”  
Bucky shakes his head and resists the urge to make a sarcastic comment about American food.  
“You sure you’re okay?” Steve pushes.  
Bucky watches Scott in the group of well-wishers, Luis throwing an arm around his shoulder and holding court. He knows Scott felt out of his depth in the competition, that it’s a relief for him to be out. But still…  
“I just… got to thinking of you guys as my section,” he says quietly. Steve gives him a questioning look. “A squad. Sub-unit of a handful of soldiers led by an NCO.”  
“A sergeant,” Steve says quietly.   
Bucky nods. “I let him down,” he says finally.  
Steve puts an arm around his shoulders, and it doesn’t occur to Bucky to be bothered by the way Steve’s hand closes around his shoulder, how twisted flesh and metal plates are a thin layer of cotton away from his fingers.  
“No, you didn’t.”  
Steve speaks with such certainty that Bucky can’t disagree. Steve is also the kind of stubborn shit who won’t leave an argument until he’s won it. So Bucky doesn’t argue, just slips an arm around Steve’s waist and lets himself be reassured.

Phil leads them down to the manor house, where they meet Maria and reclaim their bags and phones. She hands out forms for them to sign and their itinerary for the following week, along with reminders to stay off social media.  
They say their goodbyes, Bucky hugging Wanda and giving her a quick lecture on overworking. She rolls her eyes at him and kisses him on the cheek before getting into her cab.  
Luis hugs everyone who doesn’t get away fast enough, and hustles Scott into the waiting taxi, still talking about setting up a patisserie together.  
Steve gives Bucky a gentle hug and tells him to take it easy, the ‘or else’ is unspoken, before loading his luggage into a waiting cab and getting in.   
Bucky lets Maria bully him into his own taxi and checks his phone as it drives off. He sends texts to Dugan and Morita, letting them know he’s still in the competition.  
He gives into temptation and Googles biscuit sculptures. After he gets over his initial surprise he can’t help but laugh, and starts planning for next weekend.

\----------

Lángos (makes 10)

300 g all-purpose flour  
7 g dried (instant) yeast or fresh   
250 ml water  
1/2 teaspoon salt  
sunflower oil (for frying)

 

If using fresh yeast, crumble into a lukewarm water with a pinch of sugar and set aside for ten minutes. Combine flour and salt in a bowl (and dried yeast if using) and add the water. Bring together to a smooth dough, adding flour if the mix is too sticky, and knead until it’s smooth and elastic. Put in a large bowl, cover with a cloth and leave in a warm place for 20 minutes.  
Once rested, tip out onto a floured surface and knead for 5 minutes. Divide into 10 pieces and roll into balls. Leave to rest 5 minutes. Stretch each piece with your fingers, making sure the centre is thinner than the edges.  
Heat the sunflower oil in a large pan. Check the oil temperature by dropping a scrap of dough in. If the dough doesn’t sizzle around the edges, it’s too cold. If the dough quickly turns dark, it’s too hot. If it catches fire, cooking is not for you.  
Place the lángos carefully in the hot oil, flipping it over when it is golden brown (unless you have a metal hand you’ll need tongs or a slotted spoon for this). Remove and drain on paper towel. Repeat the process with the remaining pieces of dough.

Serve hot spread with sour cream, chopped garlic or grated cheese. Or all three.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> păpuşă - doll  
> desăvârşit - perfect


	3. Biscuits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Well, y’know when I was in Afghanistan, crushed under wreckage and watching my team mate _saw off my fucking arm_ ,” Bucky snarls,”I thought hey, it’ll come in handy when I can’t be bothered to find a fucking oven mitt.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I say biscuits I mean the what Not-America calls biscuits. Buttery, crumbly, delicious biscuits.  
> The authors opinion on US biscuits stands. That white sauce and sausage is fucked up, you guys.
> 
> This chaper has PTSD and a flashback that some readers may find distressing.

The taxi pulls up outside the manor house and Bucky climbs out, dragging his bag with him. He hefts it onto his shoulder and heads for the entrance.  
He finds Maria in the lobby, pacing the floor with her clipboard under one arm and a phone pressed to her ear. Bucky feels a brief twitch of empathy for whoever has pissed her off. She hangs up and gestures for Bucky to follow her to the reception desk.  
“Freeze dried raspberries, Barnes! He thinks he’s Heston Blumenthal,” she snaps.  
Bucky follows at a safe distance, pulling his phone out of his pocket and turning it off.  
“Where the hell do you get freeze dried raspberries from?” Bucky asks with a frown.  
He hands over his phone and Maria gives him a room key, making a note on her clipboard.  
“One of the researchers is picking them out of breakfast cereal,” she says irritably.  
Bucky snorts and shoves his room key in his pocket.  
“Any changes to your recipe, Barnes? Larks tongues? Hens teeth?”  
Bucky shakes his head and she looks relieved.  
“It only gets worse through the competition. Dumb shit they ask for…” She scowls.  
The show provides all the ingredients and equipment for each round, though contestants can bring favoured tools and display items. Health and Safety and insurance issues prevent contestants from bringing home made liqueurs or preserves, though.  
Maria gives him a suspicious look. “You gonna start demanding almond biscuits handmade by Spanish nuns on me Barnes?”  
Bucky shakes his head. “No.” He glances around. “Steve here yet?”  
Maria checks her forms. “Not yet. Why?” she asks, blunt as ever.  
“Nothing, he just wants to kick my ass,” Bucky says with a shrug.  
Maria gives him a terrible grin. “I’ll send him up when he gets here.”  
Bucky heads for the stairs with a nod, checking his keyfob for the room number and counting off the doors as he walks down the hallway.  
He finds his room and wrestles with the lock, dropping his bag in the doorway and nudging the door closed before kicking off his shoes and flopping on the bed.  
And yeah, Steve was going to, if not kick his ass, at least yell at him a little and look worried.

Bucky rubs his eyes and sighs. The whole damn thing had been a misunderstanding. Steve had sent him a text in the week about not being able to find garbanzo flour. Bucky, being an idiot, instead of telling him to look for gram flour in an Asian grocer had texted back _In hospital. Txt later_. And that had gone down about as well as can be expected.  
It’d taken the best part of an hour to calm Steve down and convince him that nothing terrible was happening, passing over the phone to one of the Stark technicians to explain it was just routine maintenance and assessment at the Stark clinic.  
Boring, painful assessment. ECG, scans, physiotherapy and having technicians poke about in the prosthetic was not his favourite way of spending a couple of days, but the techs were enthusiastic reviewers for gingerbread and _pryaniki_.  
Steve had wanted to come visit. But the idea of Steve seeing him in the medical bay with his prosthetic splayed out and the wreckage of his body on display… No. The thought of it sent a wave of nausea through him. Which made his blood pressure spike and got him a lecture from his medic.  
There’s a soft knock at the door and Bucky gets to his feet and pads over. He pulls the door open and there’s Steve in the hallway, his bag at his feet and a worried frown on his insufferably pretty face.  
“You okay?” Steve asks, hesitant.  
Bucky rolls his eyes and pulls him in for a hug. Steve sags against him, fingers tangling in his t-shirt like he’s afraid Bucky might break.  
“I’m fine,” Bucky murmurs. “Dumb punk,” there’s more affection than exasperation in his voice.  
Steve pulls away sooner than Bucky would have liked.  
“So.” Steve fidgets like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. “Everything’s okay?”  
Bucky nods, stepping back into the room. Steve picks up his bag and follows, moving to one side so Bucky can close the door.  
“All in working order.” Bucky holds up his prosthetic, his long sleeved t-shirt slipping down his arm a little, and flexes the fingers.  
“And your back?” Steve persists.  
“Painkillers, physiotherapy. If it doesn’t improve I gotta go back for steroid injections.”  
Steve frowns. “But you’re in pain now.”  
Bucky cuts him off before he can get going. “They ain’t a fix. Too many might even make it worse, eventually,” he says quietly.  
Steve falls silent, folding his arms and glaring at the floor.  
“I’m fine, Stevie,” Bucky says gently. He puts an arm around Steve’s shoulder. “C’mon, tell me about snickerdoodles.”

They sit in the chintzy, overstuffed armchairs the hotel insists on cluttering up the rooms with and chat about biscuits and cookies, Bucky looking slightly alarmed by the American idea of a biscuit, which sounds suspiciously like a badly made scone. And _gravy_?  
Before they know it, it’s dinner time. They head downstairs via Steve's room so he can drop off his bag and join the other contestants.  
Wanda darts across the lobby to slip her arms around Bucky’s waist. He hugs her tightly and calls her păpuşă while she questions him on his check up.  
Luis joins them, looking a little subdued without Scott around, and Bucky throws an arm around his shoulder, pulling him firmly into their group.  
Steve picks up on Luis' discomfort and strikes up a conversation with him, until they’re both arguing the merits of biscuits and gravy to an unconvinced Wanda.  
“To be fair, man, biscuits and gravy are fucking disgusting,” Luis says ruefully. “It ain’t even real gravy. It’s eggs and a roux, curdled fucking hollandaise.”  
Wanda makes an outraged noise and Bucky chokes back a laugh while Steve shrugs and calls it ‘traditional’.  
They walk out of the hotel and down the lane to the restaurant, finding their seats quickly.  
The contestants arrange themselves in their little groups with Darcy, Thor and Jane at one end and Bruce, Alexander and T’Challa in the middle. Bucky sits at the other end, Steve pressed against his side.  
The group seems smaller, despite there still being ten of them.  
Maria goes around the table organising their meal orders and keeping Luis and Darcy away from alcohol. The conversation meanders back and forth while they eat, and Bucky listens with half an ear while Luis and Steve obsess over French patisserie.

After dinner they go their separate ways, some lingering over coffee, others heading back to their rooms.  
Bucky hugs Wanda goodnight and lets Luis grab him, patting him on the shoulder and silently pleading to Steve for help. Steve chuckles and shakes his head, murmuring goodnight and leaving Bucky to it. Asshole.  
Bucky manages to wriggle out of Luis’ grip and lead him up the stairs to his room.  
“Big day tomorrow,” he says, giving Luis a gentle shove.  
“You’re a good man, Barnes,” Luis says with a yawn.  
Bucky snorts. “Debatable.”  
He stumbles down the corridor to his room, kicking the door shut behind him.  
He gets ready for bed and crawls under the covers, tired and sore.

_Jones has a hand to his chest, pressing down. He’s speaking softly but Barnes can’t figure out what he’s saying.  
Morita drops a syringe and pulls a marker pen out of his pocket, scratching a bold M on Barnes’ face before checking the tourniquet is still secure.  
His throat is filled with sand and diesel. Dugan shouting for a sweep of the area.  
There’s something bright and sharp in Morita’s hands.  
“We gotta lose it, Sarge.”  
Jones holds him down, keeps talking, shoulder against his chest to keep him still, hand clasped firmly around his remaining wrist. The odour of blood is sweet and rich and makes his mouth taste like copper pennies._

Bucky stumbles out of bed and manages to make it to the bathroom before throwing up.  
He sits on the cold tiles and wipes the sweat out of his eyes.  
He breathes in, counting to five. Breathes out, counting to five.  
Fuck.  
He crawls into the bath, fully clothed and turns on the shower. The shock of cold water knocks enough sense into him to strip out of his soaked clothes, tossing them into the sink.  
He slumps in the bathtub and lets the cold water wash over him.  
He breathes in, counting to five. Breathes out, counting to five.  
Finally he sits up enough to give the hot water tap a turn and draws his knees up under his chin until the shivers subside.  
He fumbles for the sample sized bar of soap on the edge of the bath, unwraps it with trembling fingers and washes himself, slow and methodical. He uses the sachet of shampoo and washes his hair, letting his head drop between his knees and the warm water rain over his hunched shoulders.  
He sits up and turns off the taps. Counts to ten and forces himself to stand. He shuffles over to the sink and scoops out his sodden nightclothes, dropping them into the bath with a wet slap.  
He shaves carefully, taking his time with the razor, waiting for the shakes to subside between each firm stroke across his chin, across his cheeks, up his throat.  
He rinses off the razor and wraps a towel around his waist.  
He stares at his reflection for a long time. Reminds himself how lucky he is to be alive.  
He steps into the bedroom, towelling himself dry and pulling on clean clothes. He pulls the sleeves of his henley firmly to his wrists.  
He sits on the bed and waits for the sun to rise.

Bucky pulls on his trainers and slips out of his room, locking the door behind him before padding quietly down the stairs and out to the lobby, pushing his way through the door and down to the gravel drive. He walks slowly, looking out at the surrounding fields and hedgerows.  
He watches the sky stain pink and blue and listens to the birds singing until he feels a bit more human. He sees a figure in the distance jogging along the winding country lane, making their way back to the hotel and realises it’s Steve out for a morning run.  
He briefly considers going back inside to hide and shakes himself, shoving his hands in his pockets and watching the figure slowing down as he reaches the driveway.  
Bucky raises a hand in greeting when Steve gets close enough, and watches him approach.  
Steve manages a vague grunt that could pass for hello, sweat soaking his shirt and dampening his hair. Bucky waits for him to catch his breath, shifting from foot to foot.  
“You okay?” Steve asks, worry creasing his brow.  
“Uh,” Bucky mutters. “Bad night. Couldn’t get back to sleep.”  
Steve nods. “Wanna talk about it?”  
“No,” Bucky laughs. “No.”  
Steve nods, and for a moment Bucky thinks maybe this time, Steve Rogers will let something go without a fight.  
“Talking can help, y’know,” Steve says softly.  
Bucky laughs and shakes his head. “Do you ever stop?”  
Steve looks briefly troubled until he sees the way Bucky is smiling at him. Bucky claps him on the shoulder. It’s like patting a brick wall.  
“Go get cleaned up, you can fret about me over breakfast.”  
Steve smiles ruefully and heads indoors. Bucky takes a few more minutes out in the fresh air before following.

The dining room is quiet when Bucky enters, a member of kitchen staff busy setting jugs of orange juice and milk on the buffet table. He mutters good morning while helping himself to coffee and staring absently at the basket of pastries. He’s not remotely hungry, but there’s a long day ahead of him. He helps himself to toast and a banana, and finds a table to sit at.  
Bruce appears at 5.30am and gets himself his usual fruit salad and juice. He sits opposite Bucky and pauses, taking a long hard look at him.  
“That bad?” Bucky asks warily.  
Bruce shakes his head and takes a bite of melon. “I’ve seen worse,” he offers softly.  
Bucky shrugs and bites into his banana, which is of course the moment Steve shows up.  
Bucky doesn’t watch Steve make himself black coffee and pile up a plate with scotch pancakes, but swallows down his last bite of banana a little too quickly when Steve sits down next to him.  
The room slowly fills with the other contestants, picking over the remains of the buffet and clutching their cups of coffee sleepily. Wanda comes in wearing a miniskirt and knee high socks, Bucky scowls at her and mutters darkly until she calls him _hlupák_ and goes back upstairs, returning a few minutes later in the same skirt and dark tights. Bucky is still not happy, but steals one of Steve’s pancakes for her when he goes to fetch more coffee.  
Before anyone is ready for it, Maria is forcing them into taxis and sending them off to a day of baking.

Phil wishes them all good morning and leads them into the Baking Marquee. They find their assigned counters for the weekend, Bucky is near the front this week with Wanda alongside him and Steve behind her. Bucky feel a moment of disappointment that it’s Alexander at the counter in front of him and not Steve, he doesn’t particularly want to look at his wrinkly, sour-tempered ass all day. Luis is at the counter behind him, flicking white chocolate chips at Bucky’s head when he needs someone to pay attention to him.  
The camera crew hover around Thor and Jane at the back of the Marquee, ignoring Thors repeated requests for some space until he brandishes a rolling pin at them. They don’t retreat far, and edge closer when the couple aren’t paying attention.  
Steve watches the exchange with a furrowed brow, but doesn’t step in.  
Natasha and Clint arrive and make a beeline for the couple, talking loudly over each other until the cameras move away again, much to Phil's annoyance.

The judges arrive, Peggy in a crisp white shirt and ‘40’s skirt suit, Nick in black leather and irritability.  
Phil moves everyone into position, the judges and hosts standing in a line at the front of the Marquee, and gestures for Clint to start.  
Clint welcomes everyone back to the tent and informs the camera that the weekend’s challenges will be biscuits. Natasha follows with the first challenge of the day, twenty four biscuits, one variety, but every one must be identical and uniformly baked.  
Nick warns them that if they are making soft cookies, he expects them to be soft, and hard biscuits to have a good snap, Peggy just wishes them good luck.  
They are given their time limit, and told to get started.

Bucky weighs butter and honey into a saucepan and adds milk, setting it onto a low heat until the butter has melted. He sifts rye and wheat flour into a large mixing bowl, adding baking soda and mixed spice. He removes the saucepan from the heat and sets it to one side to cool while he gets out some baking trays and searches the counter for his triangle cookie cutter.  
He whisks eggs and pours them into the warm milk, adding a dash of sugar before pouring into the mixing bowl and bringing it all together to make a soft dough.  
Bucky scatters flour on his counter and gives the dough a quick knead before re flouring and rolling the dough out, checking the thickness with a knife handle.  
He is stamping out triangles when Nick and Peggy come over to bother him.  
He pauses his cutting to smile at them, and Peggy settles herself at his side, leaning against him. Bless her heart.  
“And what treat are you making for us today?” she says, giving him a gentle shove.  
“ _Pryaniki_ ,” he responds, swatting at Nick when he pokes a finger in the rolled out dough.  
“Is this Romanian?” Nick mutters dubiously.  
“Russian,” Bucky replies. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Natasha take notice. “Honey cookies.”  
Nick picks up a scrap of dough and chews on it, while Peggy tuts at him.  
“Are these soft or crunchy?” Peggy asks.  
“Soft, dense. Good with a cup of tea,” Bucky whispers to Peggy.  
“I look forward to it,” Peggy murmurs back, hooking her arm in the crook of Nicks elbow and leading him away.  
Bucky stamps out the rest of his shapes and is arranging them on a baking tray when Natasha appears at his side.  
“ _пряник_?” she mutters, staring at him.  
Bucky grins at her. “ _да_.”  
She raises an eyebrow at him, but says nothing more, sauntering off to steal Luis’ chocolate chips.

Bucky glances over at Steve, who mouths _You speak Russian_? Bucky holds a finger and thumb an inch apart while Steve shakes his head.  
Bucky finishes arranging his cookies and puts them in the oven. He sets his timer for ten minutes and debates making some coffee.  
Wanda curses under her breath, and Bucky tucks his timer in his apron pocket and walks over. She has a pan of black cherry jam on the hob and is trying to reduce it down, the preserve spitting and hissing as she stirs. She pulls it off the heat and goes over to the sink to run her arm under a cold tap, flinching when the water hits the spatter of burns on her wrist.  
Bucky rolls up his sleeves and puts the pan back on the heat, stirring awkwardly with his left arm.  
“Tata!” Wanda snaps when she looks up at him.  
“Shush,” Bucky says. “I got ten minutes before my cookies are done. After that you’re on your own.”  
She gives him a watery little smile and keeps her wrist under the tap while Bucky stirs. The prosthetic registers points of heat along his wrist and forearm where the scalding jam spits at him, but he ignores it and keeps stirring. He can see Alexander watching him with a scowl out of the corner of his eye, but ignores that too, pulling the jam off the heat to check if it’s reduced enough. It’s darker and glossy, moving sluggishly off the spoon when he scoops some up and holds it to the light.  
“Păpuşă, this look okay to you?” He asks. Wanda turns off the tap and comes over to check.  
“ _Moj hrdina_ ,” she says, kissing him on the cheek and sending him back to his own counter. He watches her for his remaining minutes while she spoons the thickened jam onto her cookies, topping them with a drizzle of batter from a piping bag and putting them in the oven. He glances over at Steve and sees him watching Bucky with an open, soft look on his face before he flushes and turns back to his snickerdoodles.  
The pryaniki still need another minute, so Bucky busies himself arranging cooling racks on the counter and getting his ingredients ready for the glaze. He checks the cookies again and decides they’re ready, pulling out the baking trays one at a time with his prosthetic hand and transferring them onto the racks with a palette knife, careful not to crush or drop any.  
He sets the baking trays in the sink and mixes together the egg white and icing sugar until smooth. There is the clink of a mug of coffee being set down on the edge of his counter and he looks up to see Steve, a second mug of coffee cradled in his hands, watching him.  
Bucky steps back from the counter and picks up the mug. “Fuckin’ lifesaver, Steve,” he breathes, gulping down near scalding coffee.  
Steve chuckles and sips his coffee. Bucky glances over at Steve’s counter.  
“You finished?” Bucky asks. Steve nods. “You worried about finishing early?”  
Steve glances at him and, after a brief pause, nods again.  
“You’ll be fine. Just flex your biceps a little, Peggy’ll forgive you.”  
Steve snorts into his mug while Bucky sniggers.  
“C’mon Steve, flaunt it,” Bucky teases.  
Steve shakes his head, and Bucky sets down his mug to start dipping his cookies in the glaze, coating each one before setting it down on the rack.  
“So how come you can speak a dozen languages?” Steve asks quietly.  
“I don’t speak a dozen,” Bucky shrugs. “I like languages. When I was a kid…” He hesitates, then takes a breath and pushes on, “It was diverse, y’know. Hungarian, Romani, French. Always wanted to know what people were saying.”  
Bucky dips his last cookie in the glaze, setting it on the rack. “C’mon, you must know Spanish or something?”  
Steve shakes his head apologetically.  
Behind them Luis shouts ‘ _Mal educado_!’ and tosses chocolate chips at Steve until he skulks back to his counter.  
Bucky arranges his bakes on a wooden board when Natasha calls out one minute remaining, placing it on the end of the counter with seconds to spare.  
He steps back and looks at his cookies. They’re uniform in shape and colour, though the icing is on the sloppy side. Fuck, it’ll have to do.  
The camera crew circle the room getting shots of each bake, the contestants posing stiffly in the background. Phil calls everyone into position and the judging begins.

Nick and Peggy approach Bruce's counter first and try his German lebkuchen. Peggy likes the powerful spicing, though Nick finds the dark chocolate coating too bitter. Bruce frowns and mouths the word ‘bitter?’ to himself, before shoving a cookie in his mouth and shaking his head.  
Luis is next with his _langues de chat_ biscuits dipped in white chocolate. He explains to the judges that the biscuits name means ‘cat tongue’ and the biscuits themselves signify cats lapping up milk. Peggy takes a bite and gives Luis a roguish grin, there’s champagne in the chocolate. Nick grumbles about the alcohol but calls the biscuits ‘decent’.  
Darcy is next with sugar cookies shaped like high heeled shoes and beautifully iced. Peggy compliments her on her decoration, Nick finds them far too sweet.  
Thor follows with Danish butter cookies, all evenly piped and well baked. The judges like them, but Nick comments that they’re a little plain looking. Clint eats three of them in quick succession.  
Wanda is next with her jam filled _całuski_. Peggy loves the flavours of cherry and rye, and Nick reluctantly calls them good. Natasha eats two, but scowls at Clint when he reaches for one.  
Steve comes after with his snickerdoodles. The judges find them nicely flavoured, but too simple for the current stage in the competition. Steve says nothing, his mouth a thin, dissapointed line. Peggy squeezes his arm and tells him he did well, and he offers her a tight little smile.  
Alexander is next with his almond biscotti. The judges declare them technically flawless, though Nick comments that they would be better with a twist. Alexander gives him a hard stare, but doesn’t comment.  
Bucky follows with his pryaniki. Peggy loves them, and tells him how much she looks forward to trying his bakes as they’re always things that she’s never tried before. He blushes furiously at that, keeping his head down and shifting restlessly while she speaks. Nick calls the icing sloppy, which Bucky thinks is a fair point. Natasha takes a bite out of one and goes quiet for a moment.  
“Not bad, Barnes,” she says finally, and eats the rest of the pryanik slowly in savouring little bites.  
T'Challa is next with Belgian _speculoos_ , a spiced shortcrust biscuit, each stamped into shape with a wooden mould depicting a stylised flower. Peggy considers them crunchy, beautifully cooked and perfect. Nick finds them a little too spicy, but otherwise good.  
Jane is last with amaretti biscuits. Peggy calls them light and crisp, and congratulates Jane on her efforts. Nick calls them ‘good’, which makes her startle a little. Clint can fit four in his mouth in one go, though it’s a few minutes and a glass of water before he can speak again.

The cameras stop filming and the contestants gather around each other's counters, trying the biscuits and fretting over the judges comments.  
Bucky wraps up half of his pryaniki in baking parchment and writes ‘Natasha’ on the package in marker pen, dropping it on the end of his counter and taking a handful of the remainders over to Steve.  
Steve is slumped against his counter, Luis stood next to him eating snickerdoodles and making reassuring comments. Bucky sets the pryaniki down and pulls Steve into a hug. Steve crumples against him and doesn’t even hug back, just rests his head on Bucky’s shoulder and mutters “I’m gonna lose,” into his shirt.  
Bucky rubs a hand firmly up and down his spine and shushes him.  
“No, you’re not. Nothing went wrong, you made something good.”  
“Real good,” Luis adds around a mouthful of cookie.  
“Doesn’t mean I won’t get eliminated,” Steve mutters.  
“Well Peggy ain’t done with you, so you’ll be around a couple more weeks as eye candy at least,” Bucky says with a smile.  
Steve snorts and pulls back. “Thanks,” he says quietly.  
Bucky hands him a pryanik and tries one of the snickerdoodles. They’re spicy and crumbly, with just the right amount of sweetness.  
Wanda joins them with her całuski, poking at the lumps of jam still clinging to Bucky’s prosthetic. He looks down at his arm and realises that he never rolled down his sleeves after helping her with the jam, so he’s been flashing his metal arm all morning without realising.  
“Aww crap,” he mutters, and heads over to his sink to scrub the dried jam off.  
He’s drying off the prosthetic when Phil sends them off for lunch.

The contestants wander over to the catering van while the Marquee gets set up for the next challenge, sitting down at the trestle table with their food. Thor and Jane are tucked together at the far end of the table, ignoring the conversation in favour of each other, the other contestants in their usual groups.  
Bucky pushes away his half eaten pasta and regrets eating so many snickerdoodles, half listening to Darcy and Bruce bickering over whether having culinary classes in the past counts as cheating.  
“I’m just saying, having lessons is kind of like cheating. This is an amateur competition,” Bruce says softly.  
“Yeah, but if it’s for, like, sushi? It’s a whole other thing, right?” Darcy counters.  
“Sushi takes years to master,” Bruce laughs.  
“So does a jelly doughnut!”  
Bruce is about to point out the world of difference between doughnuts and well made futomaki when Alexander opens his mouth.  
“Well, I certainly believe some people here have an unfair advantage,” he snaps and points to Bucky. “That _thing_ is an asset the rest of us lack.”  
Bucky looks down at his prosthetic, the metal gleaming dully, and slowly unrolls his sleeves, tugging them to his wrists. There is a cold, leaden weight in his stomach.  
“Alexander...” Steve says in a low tone.  
“I’ve seen you using it to handle hot trays, and reducing jam this morning,” Alexander pushes on, glaring at Bucky.  
Wanda lets out a wounded noise, which is about as much as Bucky can stand.  
“Well, y’know when I was in Afghanistan, crushed under wreckage and watching my team mate _saw off my fucking arm_ ,” Bucky snarls,”I thought hey, it’ll come in handy when I can’t be bothered to find a fucking oven mitt.”  
Bucky gets to his feet, ignoring the shocked silence around him.  
“Excuse me,” he mutters and walks away.

Bucky spends several minutes walking the grounds, breathing deeply until the urge to punch something starts to fade.  
He finally gets tired of pacing and sits under the shade of a tree and spends several minutes plucking at the grass at his feet.  
Fuck.  
He glances up when he hears movement and isn’t remotely surprised to see Steve hovering a few steps away.  
“You okay?” Steve asks quietly.  
Bucky sighs and nods. “Fine, just… pissed off.”  
Steve folds his arms across his chest and shifts around, nervous. Steve is never nervous. Bucky sits up, wary and defensive. “What’s up, Steve?” He asks quietly.  
Steve is silent, staring off into the distance like he’s wrestling with something before speaking.  
“He’s said stuff before,” Steve kicks at the grass. “Last week. He was saying stuff about you.”  
Bucky watches Steve mangling the dirt at his feet. He doesn’t want to ask, but he does anyway.  
“You agree with him?”  
Steve looks shocked. “No! Fuck, no.” He shakes his head. “But I didn’t say anything. I should have knocked him out.”  
Bucky laughs, he can’t help it. He takes a deep breath and lets it out, letting go of the anger and doubt and pain. Fuck it, there will be more shit to replace it tomorrow. He holds up his right hand.  
“C’mon, help me up,” he says with a smile. “Can’t sit on my ass all day.”  
Steve steps forward and grasps Bucky’s hand, pulling him to his feet.  
“Still should’ve punched him,” Steve mutters.  
Bucky brushes the loose leaves off his jeans.  
“Still might come to that,” he says with a grin. “C’mon, before they send out a search party.”  
They walk side by side back down to the Baking Marquee, Steve sending worried looks Bucky's way every time he thinks he can’t be seen.  
“Steve,” Bucky says gently. “There’s always gonna be someone talking shit. What you gonna do? Beat up everyone?”  
“Yes,” Steve mutters mulishly.  
Bucky laughs and wraps his arm around his shoulders, giving him a gentle shake. 

Luis and Wanda are waiting outside the Baking Marquee, looking worried. Wanda comes running up to Bucky and throws her arms around him, babbling in Sokovian too fast for him to keep up with. He hugs her and makes reassuring noises until she settles down.  
“It’s nothing, păpuşă,” he tells her softly. “It’s nothing.”  
If he says it often enough he might even believe it.  
They head into the Marquee, go to their counters and put on their aprons, the other contestants already in position and glancing over at them with worried expressions. Even Natasha is hovering by Bucky’s counter, and asks after him. He waves her off with reassurances, and Phil badgers her back into position at the front of the Marquee.  
The cameras start rolling and Clint introduces the Technical Challenge, describing for the audience how the challenge involves giving the bakers basic instructions for a recipe and they’ll have to rely on their baking knowledge to complete the task.  
Peggy steps forward and announces the challenge - eighteen custard creams, all identical and perfectly baked.  
Bucky frowns and glances at Luis, who is chuckling to himself. Steve looks confused while Darcy laughs and asks if the judges are kidding. Nick shakes his head and scowls at her until she quiets down.  
They are given a time limit, and the judges removes themselves from the Marquee.  
Natasha tells them to get started, and there is a flurry of activity while people check their recipe and ingredients.

Bucky stares at the tin of Birds custard powder on his counter. Custard creams? The last, lonely biscuit at the bottom of the Christmas assortment box? He glances over at Steve, who is reading the ingredients list on the back of the tin of powder. He holds it up to Bucky and mouths _this isn’t even custard_! Bucky shrugs, then fetches a mixing bowl and starts weighing out the ingredients.  
He measures out flour, baking powder and custard powder (Steve’s right, it’s just cornflour, vegetable oil and colouring, not an egg in sight), adds the butter and works the ingredients together until he has something resembling breadcrumbs. He adds caster sugar and a pinch of salt, then beats together an egg and a splash of milk before tipping it into the bowl, a little at a time, and bringing it together to a soft dough. He presses the dough into a flat round shape, wraps it in clingfilm, scrawls a ‘B’ on the plastic in marker pen and puts it in one of the fridges against the back wall of the Marquee. He pre heats his oven and sets his timer for fifteen minutes, wipes down the counter and washes his hands.  
He checks on Steve and Luis, who are both finishing up their dough, and Wanda is putting hers in a fridge, so Bucky heads over to the kettle and starts making coffee. Wanda joins him for her green tea and chamomile for Bruce, still fretting quietly over his well-being. He pinches her cheek and tells her not to fuss. She pokes him in the ribs and calls him a kokot.  
Bucky sets a mug of coffee on the edge of Steve’s counter before going over to bother Luis, who is reading through the instructions and jiggling nervously. They’re drink coffee and try to figure out how to decorate their biscuits when Steve joins them.  
“C’mon, man. You’re an artist,” Luis wheedles. “The fuck do we do?”  
Steve comes up with a few suggestions, scoring the biscuits with a knife, poking dots in them with a skewer or pressing something on them to make an indentation. 

Bucky’s timer goes off, so he fetches his dough from the fridge and gets back to work.  
He sets out baking trays and flours the countertop before rolling out his dough. It’s a sandwich biscuit, so he wants the dough pretty thin. He cuts out eighteen rectangles and transfers them to a baking sheet, sets his timer for ten minutes and puts the tray in the oven.  
He cuts out another eighteen rectangles, and after a moment of debating fetches a skewer from the cutlery drawer and pokes an even line of dots just inside the edge of each biscuit.  
By biscuit five he’s pretty sure he’s made a terrible mistake.  
By biscuit nine he’s certain he’s made a terrible mistake.  
By biscuit fourteen he decides he hates biscuits. Luis has given up swearing in English and moved onto Spanish, which is certainly more creative. You wouldn’t think a goat would let a guy do something like that.  
Bucky’s timer goes off and he checks the biscuits in the oven, they’re not ready, so he sets the timer for two minutes and goes back to work. Over to the side Steve is humming happily to himself, drawing freehand on each biscuit with a cocktail stick.  
Bucky moves the biscuits onto a baking sheet, making a couple extra at the last minute because he doesn’t trust his own luck. He sets out cooling racks and checks that the biscuits in the oven are done, pulling them out with his prosthetic hand and putting the fresh baking tray in before nudging the oven door shut with his foot.  
He sets his timer for ten minutes and transfers the biscuit to cool, giving himself time to make the custard cream.  
He sets up the freestanding mixer and measures out butter, custard powder and a spoonful of icing sugar before starting up the whisk, adding more icing sugar a spoonful at a time as it gets incorporated. He hears a yelp from Darcy when she dumps all her icing sugar in the bowl and turns on the whisk, getting a faceful of powdered sugar and does his best not to chuckle. Darcy laughs it off and starts again.  
Bucky adds a splash of boiling water to the mix and scrapes it into a bowl, setting it in the fridge to chill.  
The timer beeps at him, so Bucky checks on the biscuits and gives them another minute. He glances over at Luis, who already has his out of the oven and is flapping them with a tea towel to cool them down. Steve is sitting on the floor in front of his oven, a cameraman filming him as he rests his chin on the palm of his hand.  
Bucky pulls the biscuits out of the oven and arranges them on the cooling rack before fetching his filling from the fridge and transferring it to a piping bag. He flips over the plain biscuits and starts piping filling evenly on each one, waiting for the decorated sides to cool before sandwiching them together.  
He arranges the finished biscuits on a plate with a couple of minutes to spare, checking on Steve, who is finishing up his plating, and Wanda, who has already finished and is helping Darcy with her filling. Luis is frantically spreading filling on his biscuits with a butter knife and swearing loudly, so Bucky starts arranging his finished ones on a plate, murmuring assurances as he goes and surreptitiously wiping the edges clean.  
When the last biscuit is on the plate Luis lets out a yell and throws his arms around Bucky, nearly sending them both to the floor. Bucky manages to regain his balance and pats Luis on the back, keeping him upright until Clint calls time and tells everyone to take their bakes front of the Marquee. Luis lets Bucky go and picks up his plate, Bucky grabs his own and follows the group down to the row of tables at the front of the marquee where a neat row of photos of each contestant are arranged in a line, facing away from where the judges will be standing.  
They retreat to the row of stools and Bucky sits next to Luis, Steve taking his usual position at Bucky's left.  
Nick and Peggy return to the tent and the judging begins.

The judges walk up and down the row of biscuits, commenting on the varied finishes and colours. They try the first biscuit, checking the consistency of the filling and the snap of the biscuit before moving on to the next one. Clint is having a fabulous time, shoving biscuits in his mouth and declaring each one as fantastic as the last, even Darcy’s, whose biscuits are painfully overbaked.  
Steve freezes up when the judges reach his, and Bucky silently slides an arm around his waist, the prosthetic hand resting lightly on his hip.  
The judges like the bakes, finding them uniform and well flavoured. Peggy particularly likes the finish, a star in the centre surrounded by decorative curls.  
The judges move on and Steve sags a little in his seat, leaning into Bucky.  
Bucky’s custard creams go down well too, though Nick thinks they could have done with half a minute longer in the oven. Bucky manages to stifle any derisive comments he might want to make at that.  
Wanda’s biscuits are well received, Nick struggles to find fault with them. Luis gets favourable comments too, and he squirms in his seat until Bucky kicks him in the ankle.

The judges rank the custard creams from worst to best, starting with Darcy, whose filling is too soft and biscuits overbaked. Thor follows, and is undaunted by their criticism, commenting that falling in battle is still noble. Nick stares blankly at him for a moment while Peggy moves swiftly on.  
Bucky comes in fifth, not terrible, but still not great. He does better than Alexander, at least. Third place goes to Steve, who lets out a sigh of relief as Peggy compliments the design of the biscuits and the filling. Bucky tightens his grip around Steve’s waist briefly, the prosthetic registering the brief answering press Steve’s hand on Bucky’s wrist.  
Second place goes to Luis, who bounces in his seat and manages not to swear.  
Peggy announces Wanda as the winner and Bucky hugs her tightly.  
“ _Fată deșteaptă_ ,” he murmurs.  
The camera records the contestants congratulating each other before Phil picks a handful to do interviews of their experience of the competition so far. The remainders drink coffee and try each others bakes before being herded into taxis and sent back to the hotel.

Bucky heads up to his room for a shower, running the water as hot as he can stand and scrubbing the last stubborn spatters of jam off the prosthetic. Stark would never let him hear the end of it if the mechanism seized up because of some cherry jam.  
He turns off the water and climbs out, towelling himself dry and putting on clean clothes. He forces himself to do his physio, though he’d rather not.  
He stretches out on the bed and closes his eyes. He’s supposed to go down for dinner, but the thought of socialising, especially socialising with Alexander giving him the stink eye across the table, doesn’t appeal.  
He snorts to himself, that’s an understatement.  
There is a soft knock at the door. Bucky groans and rubs his eyes.  
“Come in Steve,” he shouts.  
The door cracks open and Steve leans in.  
“Hey, Buck,” he says quietly. “How d’you know it was me?”  
“Because you’re a pain in the ass,” Bucky says with a smile.  
Steve steps into the room and pushes the door shut behind him, leaning against the varnished pine and watching Bucky with a troubled frown.  
“You coming to dinner?” he asks quietly.  
“Not feeling up to company.” He gives Steve a smile. “It’s fine. Go. Eat.” He flaps a hand at Steve, though he know’s it’s useless when Steve’s got that worried set to his shoulders.  
Steve folds his arms across his chest and positions himself in the doorway, stubborn and immutable. Damn it.  
“We could call room service,” Steve suggests.  
Bucky considers trying to talk Steve out of the room. Or climbing out of the window. Fuck it, he’s too damned tired.  
“You think someone delivers pizza out here?” he asks finally.  
Steve grins at him, bright and beautiful and damned impossible to argue with.  
“I’ll go find out.”

Steve manages to sweet talk someone into bringing them pizza, and they sit on the floor of Bucky’s room eating pepperoni with extra mushroom talking about the following days Showstopper Challenge.  
“Sunflowers?” Bucky asks, incredulous.  
“Yeah,” Steve swallows a mouthful of pizza. “Van Gogh’s Sunflowers. In shortbread. I’m still figuring out how to curl the petals.”  
Bucky chews thoughtfully. “Cake tin?” He tosses the last of his crust back in the box. “Tinfoil? Scrunch it up and use it as a kind of cradle?”  
Steve nods thoughtfully, sketching a rough shape in the air with his fingertips. “I wanted to make it as actual sunflowers in a vase, but I can’t make it work. Too heavy. So it’s gonna be a relief.” He glances at Bucky’s furrowed brow. “You’ve seen them, haven’t you Buck?”  
Bucky bites his lip and shakes his head.  
“Seriously?” Steve throws a crust of pizza at him. Bucky picks it out of his lap and pointedly takes a bite out of it.  
“Screw you, Rogers. Too busy gettin’ shot at.”  
Steve laughs. “Alright, but I’m taking you to the National Gallery. See for yourself.”  
Bucky smiles and takes another bite of crust. “Yeah? You gonna teach me about art, Stevie?”  
“Someone’s gotta,” Steve smiles, gentle and sweet. “I’m gonna turn in.”  
Bucky watches Steve gets to his feet and holds his hand out. “Help me up, will ya.”  
Steve snorts and calls him lazy, but pulls him to his feet, wrapping both arms around him and squeezing tightly. Bucky pats him on the back and hustles him out the door with a murmured goodnight before he gets too sentimental.  
He packs up the last crusts of pizza and put them in the bin, gets ready for bed and crawls under the covers. The room still smells like cheese and pepperoni.  
He falls asleep quickly, and if he dreams he doesn’t remember.

Bucky wakes up to the morning alarm and hauls himself out of bed. He goes through his physio routine before getting showered and dressed, packing his bag and hauling it down the stairs to leave it in the lobby while he goes for breakfast.  
The dining room is half empty, Bruce and Wanda at one of the tables, T'Challa and Alexander at another. Bucky pours himself a coffee and drops a couple of slices of toast on a plate before joining Bruce and Wanda. Wanda makes a point of holding out one leg, showing the plain black trousers she’s wearing. Bucky pats her ankle, which she takes as some sort of permission to use him as a footrest when he sits down.  
They eat breakfast and talk quietly while the room fills up with other contestants.  
Steve joins them after his morning run, still damp haired from a shower. He takes a seat next to Bucky with his coffee and croissants, listening to Wanda and Bucky bicker affectionately.  
Wanda pokes Bucky with the toe of her boot.  
“How come you don’t go running in the morning?” She raises an eyebrow at Bucky and he resists the urge to shove her feet off his lap.  
“Fuck that, I spend enough time in the gym as it is,” Bucky grumbles.  
Steve raises his eyebrows. “Yeah?”  
Bucky pats the prosthetic. “Puts a lot of strain on the spine and ligaments, so I do back and core strengthening.”  
Bruce smiles at him. “You don’t sound to happy about it.”  
Bucky shrugs. “I get through a lot of audiobooks.”  
Before anyone is ready for it, Maria sends them to their waiting taxis and off for another day of baking.

They head across the estate to the Baking Marquee and get set up for the day, the camera crew catching shots of them. Phil grabs contestants to do one-to-one interviews while waiting for the judges to arrive, and Bucky finds himself being led out onto the lawn and backed up against a topiary hedge. He waits patiently while the cameraman checks the light and Phil moves him along an inch at a time like a fussy mother cat. 

_Bucky smiles to himself and nods, hands thrust into his pockets, shoulders loose.  
“It’s going pretty well. I think it’s going well.” He shrugs. “Yesterday was… It started bad, got worse,” he pauses and bites the inside of his cheek, opens his mouth to speak and then shuts it again.  
“There are good days and bad days. You think recovery is gonna be a straight road but it ain’t. It’s like picking your way through a forest. You get turned around and you have to double back, retrace your steps, try again. Sometimes you walk for hours and get nowhere.”  
He shrugs and smiles ruefully to himself.  
“So you let go of the bad and you keep a hold of the good, and you keep going.” He glances up at the camera. “That's all you can do.”_

Natasha introduces the Showstopper Challenge, explaining for the cameras that the challenge is an opportunity for each baker to show off their talents, producing something impressive and delicious. Peggy announces the challenge itself, a three dimensional biscuit sculpture.  
The camera pans around the room for reaction shots before Nick gives them their time limit and tells them to get to work.

Bucky measures brown sugar, treacle and golden syrup in a pan, taking care not to get his prosthetic clogged up, and puts the pan on a low heat. He stirs it occasionally with a wooden spoon while weighing out plain flour and adding ground spices and raising agents.  
Peggy and Nick wander over when he’s taking the pan off the heat and stirring in the butter. He glances up at them and smiles at Peggy.  
“What are you making today? Gingerbread?”  
Bucky nods. “Some black pepper in the gingerbread for a kick.”  
Nick makes a snide remark about it being an English recipe that Bucky pointedly ignores.  
“We’ve asked everyone to make a sculpture in this challenge, so what can we expect from you?” Peggy asks, leading the conversation firmly onwards.  
Bucky hesitates, biting his lip, the leans in to whisper conspiratorially to Peggy. “A rocket ship.”  
She lets out a burst of laughter. “Really?”  
Bucky nods. “When I was a kid I wanted to be an astronaut. So I’m doing the classic, y’know, retro design.” He makes a vague gesture in the air, outlining the curves of ‘30’s style spaceship. “I was going to do the ISS but it looked fu - looked bad.”  
“How are you sticking the pieces together?” Nick asks.  
“I’m not,” Bucky says with a smirk. “The pieces slot together like a jigsaw.”  
Nick makes a ‘mm-hmph’ noise and wanders off. Peggy gives Bucky’s arm a squeeze and wishes him luck.

Bucky sets the buttery mixture aside to cool and rolls out a sheet of baking parchment, taking the cap off a marker pen and sketching out the curved lines of his ship. He’s not an artist like Steve, but he can manage cartoons and sketches. He marks out the centre line, folding over the paper to make sure it’s symmetrical. He makes a few more marks, drawing portholes and starbursts that he’ll cut out of the gingerbread to give a die cut design on the finished bake. When he’s happy with the design he whistles at Steve and holds up his pattern. Steve looks over from where he’s bringing together his shortbread dough and wipes the excess off his fingers before coming over.  
Steve leans against the counter and looks over the picture, a smile tugging the corner of his mouth.  
“This is great, Buck,” he says softly. He reaches for the marker, his eyebrow raised, and Bucky nods, watching as he makes a few sure, simple strokes on the page, accentuating the curve of the ship and the shape of the retro thruster. Steve straightens up, putting the marker down with a nod.  
“Thanks, pal,” Bucky says softly. “You okay?”  
“Yeah,” Steve nods, then points to his counter. “Better be getting back.”  
Bucky waves him off, watching as he bumps into the corner of his counter and stumbles around a moment before returning to his shortbread.  
Bucky shakes his head and goes back to work, pouring the cooled sugar and butter into the flour, bringing the mixture together into a soft dough.  
He wraps the gingerbread in clingfilm, writes his name on it in marker and puts it in the fridge.  
He checks the time and goes back to his template, cutting out the design and setting it to one side. He clears down the counter and washes his hands, scrubbing the treacle off his prosthetic. He glances around the room, Steve is putting his dough in the fridge, Wanda is working on her template and Luis is rolling out his dough. No one is panicking or in trouble, so Bucky heads over to the kettle and starts making coffee, as well as chamomile for Bruce and green tea for Wanda. He hands the cups out, even offering coffee to Alexander, though he refuses, and taking the last two mugs to Steve’s counter.  
Bucky leans against the counter and watches Steve scrunching up tinfoil and arranging it on a baking tray, pausing to sip his coffee and frown at his notes. 

Bucky fetches his dough out of the fridge and flours the counter, rolling the dough out evenly, cutting it into two and placing each one on a baking sheet. He flattens out the dough and puts the template in position, carefully cutting around it with a sharp knife and picking out the scraps, setting them on a tray for baking separately. He repeats the process with the second piece, cutting out a couple of circles with slots cut in them for the bases and putting the biscuits in the oven.  
He sets the timer for fifteen minutes and starts making his icing, dividing it into four bowls and dying each one vivid, pulp comic colours.  
Luis calls him over, so Bucky sets his bowls to one side and helps Luis shape his brandy snaps, his prosthetic fingers able to work the hot mixture without burning, while Luis cuts his almond _polvorón_ into squares.  
Bucky’s timer goes off, so he finishes his last couple of brandy snaps and heads over to his oven. The gingerbread is still a little soft so he gives it another minute, watching Luis transferring his cookies to a baking sheet and sling them into the oven.  
Bucky pulls his baking trays out of the oven and Luis tells him to recut the biscuits, pointing out that they’ll have spread a bit in the oven during cooking. Bucky lays the template over the bakes and trims the cuts where the pieces slot together before transferring them to cooling racks. He puts the scraps in the oven and sets his timer.  
He glances over at Steve, who is pulling the first of his sunflowers out of the oven, and heads over to help him transfer it to a wire rack. Steve mutters a thanks as they carefully lift the bake up and move it across, working smoothly together.  
Bucky gives him a nod and gets back to his own bake, checking Wanda is doing okay before fetching his tray of scraps out of the oven.  
Bucky spoons the icing into piping bags and starts working on his design, keeping it simple and bold. He pauses to help Steve take his next sunflower out of the oven before finishing up and setting them to one side to dry.

Steve comes over to give him a hand assembling the rocket ship and they carefully slot the two pieces together. Bucky is suddenly, painfully, aware that he has a chunk of metal where a hand should be. A chunk of metal that could tear through the stained pine countertop, and expecting it to manipulate a flimsy piece of biscuit seems ridiculous. Steve talks softly to him, though Bucky doesn’t really notice the words spoken, just the settling of his heartbeat and the large, steady hands holding the sheets of gingerbread in place. He lets out a breath and slots the two pieces together in a quick, neat movement. He lays out a tray and gets Steve to hold the bake in place while he attaches the feet and carefully sets it down. It wobbles slightly, but stays upright and Bucky swears under his breath, leaning into Steve who chuckles and pats him on the back.  
“Why the fuck are we doing this, Steve?” he mutters into Steve’s shoulder.  
Steve’s timer goes off, so they go back to his counter and pull the last of the sunflowers out of the oven. It’s baked golden brown, each petal perfectly formed, and Bucky feels a sudden burst of pride for his friend. He clears his throat and makes his excuses, heading back over to his counter before all the stupid words clustered in his throat can make their way out.  
He arranges the scraps of biscuit around the rocket ship, crushing them into crumbs and scattering them around the tray. He steps back and stares at the bake, giving himself a moment to be proud of it before checking to see if Luis needs a hand.  
Bucky ends up holding the back wall of a cantina scene while Luis swears excessively and sticks everything in place with hot caramel, glancing over when Steve and Wanda finish their presentations and go over to help Darcy with her dollhouse.  
Natasha calls time and tells everyone to step away from their bakes, pointedly telling Steve that he should step away from other bakes too. Steve gives Darcy an apologetic look before letting go of the wall he was supporting, wincing when it slowly topples over.  
Darcy puts on a brave face in front of the camera crew, who work their way around the room getting footage of each bake.  
Phil calls everyone into position, and the judging begins.

Jane is called before the judges first. Thor carries her sculpture to the judges table, a complex swirl of pale vanilla macaroons dusted with shimmering blue lustre powder representing the milky way. Thor places the piece down, kisses Jane's hand and returns to his counter. Peggy likes the flavour of the macaroons, though Nick doubts they count as a biscuit sculpture. Peggy quietly suggests that he be more specific in the briefs in future and thanks Jane for her effort.  
Alexander is next, with a raspberry ripple ice cream cart. Bucky remembers Maria complaining about sifting through breakfast cereal for dried raspberries and snorts, ducking his head and trying not to draw attention to himself.  
The bake is well received, through Nick says the raspberry flavour could be stronger.  
Steve is called down next, and Bucky helps him with his board, the pair of them carrying it carefully down to the judges table. Bucky’s pretty sure Steve could manage it alone, but still briefly touches his hand to the small of Steve’s back as he returns to his counter.  
Peggy adores the sunflowers, marvelling at the detail of each petal and the scattering of sunflower seeds at the center of each flowerhead. Nick calls it a good, even bake. Bucky helps Steve bring the display back to his counter, he doesn’t trust himself to speak, only nods and smiles when Steve catches his eye.  
Bruce follows with a double helix made with gingerbread. Peggy likes the flavour, though Nick doesn’t think it’s very impressive. Bruce mutters that the building blocks of life are about as impressive as it gets and takes his bake away.  
Bucky is called for next and carries his rocket ship carefully to the judges. Nick actually laughs at it before catching himself. Peggy likes the flavour, especially the addition of black pepper, as well as the design. Bucky takes his rocket back to his counter, breaking off the nose cone and handing it to Steve on his way past.  
T'Challa comes next, with a representation of a forest floor. It’s a complex piece, with piles of thin, crisp curls of wafer shaped like leaves and crumbly shortbread toadstools and acorns tucked in amongst them. Peggy finds the effect charming, though Nick finds the browned autumn leaves overdone.  
Darcy follows with her dollhouse. Peggy likes the idea, even though the finished piece has collapsed under its own weight. Nick finds the biscuit soft and underbaked. Clint breaks off the chimney and crams it in his mouth, praising it while spraying crumbs everywhere. Darcy kisses his cheek and takes the bake back to her counter, blowing Nick a kiss as she leaves.  
Wanda comes next with a haunted house made from gingerbread dusted with cocoa before baking to give the walls a mottled finish. The house is finished with candy glass windows and spun sugar cobwebs. Peggy congratulates Wanda on her creativity. Nick finds the biscuit a shade too bitter.  
Luis is called forward with his cookie cantina. Nick mutters darkly about getting help from other contestants until Peggy hisses at him to behave and pointedly tells Luis how much it pleases her to see the contestants supporting each other. Peggy loves everything about the bake, from the polvoróne floor tiles with tequila to the bar made from brandy snaps. Even the gingerbread walls contain a dash of rum. When Nick comments on all the alcohol Luis laughs and points out that it’s a bar. It only occurs to Clint to ask what's in the brandy snaps when he’s shoving a third into his mouth.  
Last is Thor with a Viking longship made from two cleverly shaped pieces of gingerbread iced with intricate designs and with long rows of cinnamon biscuits along each side. Peggy is impressed with the bake, commenting on the presentation and flavours while Thor visibly preens. Nick calls it a good bake, though seems to take far too much pleasure in snapping off the raven figurehead and biting into it.

The judges hole themselves up to argue over the weekends challenges. The contestants walk around the Marquee for a while, trying out each others bakes and fretting over how they did in the competition while Phil takes people out to film the one-to-one interviews. Steve and Wanda join Bucky at Luis’ counter and waste no time dismantling his cantina. The polvorónes are delicious, crumbly and melt-in-the-mouth, and Bucky silently works his way across the cantina floor while Wanda and Luis debate marzipan in biscuits. Steve leans across Bucky to snag a chunk of wall, nibbling on the gingerbread while still pressed to Bucky’s shoulder. It doesn’t occur to Bucky to mind that Steve is leaning against his prosthetic.  
Phil finishes the round of interviews and sends the contestants out to lunch.  
They walk down to the catering van to eat tagine and couscous, sat around the trestle table. Bucky ignores the pointed glances Alexander sends his way, instead watching as Steve pokes warily at the chunks of dried apricot in his stew while Luis tells them about a place he and Scott have found for their patisserie. It’s not Covent Garden, but it’s close. Bucky volunteers to help clean up, and offers to bring along help, since he can usually round up a member or two of his old unit when they’re on leave. Luis’ face lights up, despite Bucky’s best efforts.  
Steve offers to help with any painting, and Luis lunges across the table to kiss him, sending couscous flying everywhere.  
Steve is still picking raisins out of his hair when Phil summons them back to the Marquee.

The row of stools are arranged at the front of the Marquee where the judges and hosts are waiting, and the camera crew film the contestants filing into the Marquee and taking their seats, Bucky finding himself between Steve and Luis. He glances over at Wanda, sat between Steve and Bruce, and she gives him a quick thumbs up.  
Clint and Natasha congratulate the group on their challenges and explain to the cameras that Nick and Peggy have decided on the weekends best and worst bakers. The best will be declared ‘Star Baker’, the worst eliminated.  
Peggy tells them it was a difficult decision, as the standard of baking was so high, but the winner is Luis.  
Luis shrieks and bounces in his seat. Bucky manages to grab the back of his shirt and keep him in his seat long enough for Nick to announce the contestant who’s leaving - Darcy.  
Luis is out of his seat before the words are out of Nick's mouth. He throws his arms around Darcy and loudly informs her that she is the shit, and Nick doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Darcy laughs and hugs him back.  
The rest of the contestants gather round them to say well done and express sympathies. Luis hugs Bucky long and hard, whispering greatly exaggerated claims in Bucky's ear while he shakes his head and disagrees. Luis won on his own talent, and Bucky won’t take a shred of that away from him.

Phil checks that the camera crew have all they need before handing out the challenges for next weekend, issuing deadlines for recipes and his usual grim warnings.  
Bucky reads through the challenges and grabs Steve by the elbow.  
“You seen this?” Buck asks quietly.  
Rather than read the sheet in his hands, Steve leans in close and looks at Bucky’s, frowning as Bucky holds up the list of challenges.  
“Substitutions?” Steve murmurs, reading through the list.  
Bucky nods. “Sugar free. Dairy free,” he mutters. “Well, fuck.”  
Steve nods. “Fuck,” he agrees.  
They walk down to the manor house where Maria is waiting with their phones and luggage. She hands out forms to sign and itineraries for the following weekend, along with the usual instructions to stay off social media.  
They say their goodbyes, Luis even managing to get Maria off guard enough to hug her, despite her freezing and loudly demanding someone take a crowbar to him. Bucky hugs Wanda and tells her not to wear so much damned makeup. She kicks him in the shin before getting in her cab.  
Steve hesitates before getting in his cab, looking lost for words. Bucky pulls him into a hug, curling the palm of his hand against the nape of Steve’s neck, the prosthetic wrapped tightly around his narrow waist.  
“We’re still here,” Bucky says softly.  
Steve nods, pressing his nose into Bucky’s shoulder. “Yeah.”  
“I’m so fucking proud of you, Steve,” Bucky whispers.  
Steve makes a muffled little sound and tightens his arms around Bucky in a brief, painful squeeze. Maria clears her throat pointedly and they reluctantly pull apart. Steve gives Bucky a last smile before climbing into his cab, pulling the door closed and disappearing down the road.  
Bucky gives Maria a quick salute before getting into his taxi. He turns on his phone and checks his messages, sending texts to Jones and Dugan to let them know he’s still in the competition.  
He starts googling vegan cake recipes, finding a facebook group and scrolling through the shared photos. It’s not what he’s looking for, but it’s perfect for Steve. He copies the page and texts it to him.  
He's boarding his train when his phone chimes.

Steve: Tofu?!

\----------

Pryaniki  
200g rye flour  
150g wheat flour  
4 tbs butter  
½ cup milk  
½ cup honey  
3 egg yolks  
1 tbs sugar  
1 tbs mixed spice  
½ tsp baking powder

Preheat oven 200°C/400F. Warm milk and butter in a pan until butter has melted. Add honey and set aside to cool. Sift flours, spices and baking powder into a large bowl. Add the warm milk, sugar and eggs and mix to form a soft dough.  
Roll dough out 1cm thick and cut into shapes (small circles, or use any cookie cutter you fancy). Arrange on a baking tray and bake 10-12 minutes, or until pryaniki are golden and firm to the touch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since the MCU haven't provided us with a Sokovian language. Or location. I'm putting it somewhere between Czech republic and Serbia. So Wanda speaks something very similar to Czech. 
> 
> hlupák - dumbass  
> Moj hrdina - my hero  
> Mal educado - uneducated  
> fată deșteaptă - clever girl


	4. Substitutions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky turns over his recipe sheet and reads the ingredients list. After a moment he turns the page again. Then checks that he’s not missing a second sheet. On the far side of the tent, Luis has started swearing.  
> There are no quantities listed, just a list of ingredients: millet flour, oat flour, egg and milk, plus oil for frying.  
> Thor starts swearing. His vocal range is impressive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's chapter 4 - Substitutions.
> 
> Just so you know, I love tofu, I really do. Just... not in cheesecake.
> 
> Special thanks to Queenofthewips for her cruel and unusual Technical Challenge suggestio.  
> And thanks to Queen and Eidheann for their tireless betaing skills, and occasional whacking me around the head over lack of commas.
> 
> să dormi - Go to bed  
> já nejsem unavená - I’m not tired

Bucky climbs out of the taxi, shutting the door behind him and hefting his bag onto his shoulder. He crunches his way up the gravel drive to the entrance and into the lobby, and eventually finds Maria leaning against the reception desk with a cup of coffee. From the look on her face Bucky briefly wonders if there’s a dash of whiskey in her cup.  
Maria glances up as he approaches the desk and reaches for her clipboard. Bucky tugs his phone out of his pocket and turns it off before sliding it across the polished wooden desk. She makes a note on her clipboard and picks up the phone, dropping it into a box at her feet and pushing a room key across the desk in return.  
“All set for tomorrow?” Bucky asks as he picks up his key.  
“Tofu,” she mutters darkly. “Virgin coconut oil.”  
Bucky frowns. “What d’you do to coconut oil that makes it non… actually don’t tell me.” Bucky shudders and Maria manages a brief smirk.  
“Get lost, Barnes,” she says with a smile.  
Bucky snaps off a salute and heads for the stairs, checking his key fob for his room number and counting his way down the hall until he reaches his door.  
After a couple of goes he gets the door unlocked, dropping his bag and kicking off his shoes. He walks over to the bed, drops his keys on the bedside table and collapses onto the mattress.

He’s woken up by a soft knock on the door and struggles into a sitting position.  
“Yeah?” He calls out.  
The handle rattles and the door pushes open. Bucky brushes the hair out of his eyes and smiles despite himself.  
“Hey Steve.”  
Steve steps into the room, nudging the door closed behind him. “Hey Buck.” He folds his arms across his chest and leans against the door, his features creased with concern. “You coming down to dinner?”  
Bucky briefly considers saying no, he doesn’t feel up to dealing with people. Then Steve would _really_ start fretting over him, and the thought is more exhausting than a roomful of Alexander's muttering darkly behind his back.  
“Yeah,” he says after a moment, dragging himself to his feet and heading to the bathroom to wash the sleep out of his eyes.  
He pulls on his shoes and grabs his room key, waving Steve out the door.  
“We don’t have to, y’know,” Steve says softly.  
Bucky waves a hand at him and locks the door. “Nah. C’mon, let’s get this over with.”  
They cross the corridor and head down the stairs to the lobby, Steve gently nudging Bucky with his shoulder when he falls silent.  
The rest of the contestants are milling around, catching up on each other’s news. Luis comes barrelling over and grabs Bucky in a bear hug. He wobbles but manages to regain his balance, patting Luis on the back.  
“Hey, Luis,” he says with a grin.  
“Vegan fucking cheesecake. Dude, seriously? What the fuck?”  
Luis launches into a rant about tofu, his arms still tightly wrapped around Bucky’s waist. Wanda and Bruce come over to join them, Wanda wrapping an arm around Bucky’s neck and kissing his cheek.  
“Tata,” she says warmly.  
Bucky grins at her. “Păpuşă,” he responds, scrunching up his face as she wipes the smear of lipstick off his cheek.  
He manages to prise Luis away, feeling a rush of gratitude for the people around him. 

Maria herds the group outside and down the road to the restaurant. It gives Bucky a slight chill to see one less chair at their usual table as he takes a seat.  
“Anyone know how Darcy is doing?” he looks over to where Thor is sat next to Bruce and realises that Jane isn’t sat beside him. She isn’t even in the room. He glances around, annoyed with himself for not noticing her absence sooner.  
Bucky sits at the far end of the table, Steve beside him and Wanda opposite. Luis sits down next to her and leans across the table.  
“Okay. So Darcy is doin’ good. She’s back to studying, and said it was good to be out of the competition because she was gonna go down in flames sooner or later and no point in taking her college career down as well. But Jane says that she can get an internship for her over the summer, though what Political Science has to do with astrophysics is–- -”  
“Luis,” Bucky says softly.  
“They broke up,” Luis blurts out.  
Steve sits up. “What?” he exclaims, his voice low and harsh.  
“Jane couldn’t handle the attention, the cameras all the time, and they’re showing the first episode next week, so it’s only gonna get worse.” Luis stops for breath. “He’s not taking it well.”  
Bucky glances over at Thor, who is hunched in his seat next to Bruce. He looks smaller, diminished. Steve makes a small, troubled noise in the back of his throat. Bucky rests a hand on the small of Steve’s back, pressing gently. Steve had hated the way the camera crew had followed Thor and Jane around.  
“Steve,” he murmurs gently.  
Steve looks over at him, and Bucky sees something like fear behind his concern before he blinks and looks away again. Bucky says his name again but Steve just shakes his head. Bucky sighs and rubs the flat of his hand up Steve’s spine. He leans close enough to rest his chin on Steve's shoulder, and for a moment he stiffens like he’s about to pull away.  
“They’ll be okay,” he whispers. “They’ll figure it out.”  
Steve watches Bruce talk to Thor and the tension slowly leaches out of him. It does not disperse completely, and he is still reluctant to meet Bucky's eye.  
Dinner is a quiet affair, everyone lost in their thoughts. Alexander doesn’t even make any snide remarks. 

No one argues when Maria sends them back to the hotel. They walk in groups of two and three in the twilight and Bucky hangs back, catching Steve’s arm when they are in sight of the entrance.  
Steve hesitates but doesn’t push Bucky away, and lets himself be pulled into a hug. Bucky wraps both arms around him tightly, feeling Steve flinch and slowly relax, bringing his hands up to clutch at Bucky’s jacket.  
“I hate this,” Steve whispers.  
Bucky cups the curve of Steve’s skull in his hand, pressing his fingertips to the hollow below his ear and massaging gently. “It’s okay,” he soothes.  
“It’s not. Sooner or later one of us is gonna get eliminated -”  
“Me,” Bucky says with a smile.  
Steve frowns and tightens his grip on Bucky’s jacket. “Buck,” he whines.  
“C’mon. You’re gonna be in the final.”  
Steve shakes his head and buries his face in Bucky’s shoulder. “I don’t want you to go,” Steve’s voice is muffled against Bucky’s jacket, breath warm and damp on his neck.  
Bucky sighs and rests his cheek against Steve’s head.  
“It’s not forever. Few more weeks and it’ll all be over.” Bucky idly runs his fingers through Steve’s hair, tugging gently at the threads of spun gold. “No more spending every waking hour baking the same damn thing over and over. No more getting fat on biscuits.”  
Steve snorts. “Tofu,” he murmurs.  
“Don’t get me fucking started,” Bucky exclaims. Steve laughs properly this time, and Bucky loosens his grip, pulling back enough to look Steve in the eye.  
“I ain’t going nowhere, Steve. When this is over,” Bucky grins. “And you’re not sick of the sight of me, I’ll still be here. Okay?”  
Steve shifts in the loose circle of his arms. “Even if you get sent home because of me?”  
Bucky laughs. “Even then.” He settles his hands on Steve’s broad shoulders. “It’s just baking, Stevie.”  
Steve nods and says nothing more, and they walk in silence to the hotel, Steve still gripping tightly to Bucky’s jacket.

They walk up the stairs and across the hallway, passing Bucky’s room and continuing down to Steve’s room at the end of the corridor. For a moment Bucky thinks he’s going to have to prise his jacket out of Steve’s grip, but Steve lets out a quiet sigh and loosens his fingers.  
“Thanks,” he murmurs.  
“Anytime,” Bucky says gently.  
For a moment he wants. He wants to smooth the furrow on Steve’s brow with a swipe of his thumb. Wants to press his mouth to the hollow behind Steve’s ear. Instead he smiles and gives Steve’s shoulder a gentle squeeze before stepping back.  
“See you later.” He snaps off a salute that Steve clumsily returns before turning away.  
He fumbles with his key for a moment before unlocking the door and entering the room.  
Bucky kicks off his shoes and goes through his bedtime routine, crawling under the covers and burying his head under the pillow.  
Fuck.

Bucky wakes up shortly before his alarm, restless and uneasy. He sits up in bed and takes a moment to untangle his thoughts, trying to figure out how much of his unease is nerves over the weekend ahead and how much is shit stirred up by his subconscious.  
He shakes his head and gets up, stumbling to the bathroom to take a shower. He dresses and heads downstairs to breakfast.  
Bruce and Wanda are already in the dining room, drinking coffee and talking softly. Bucky stares at the buffet table blankly before finally picking up a couple of slices of toast and pouring himself a coffee. He takes his breakfast over to the table and sits next to Wanda with a grunt. She leans over to kiss him on the cheek while he grimaces and acts like it doesn’t make him so damned happy. Wanda doesn’t buy any of it, wiping off the smear of lipstick with her thumb and giving his face a pinch.  
Bruce watches them with a smile. “All set for today?” he asks Bucky.  
Bucky shakes his head. “This weekend is gonna kill me,” he says ruefully.  
Bruce nods in agreement. “It’s not my specialty,” he agrees.  
They eat their breakfast while Bucky gently harangues Wanda about moving out of the rat trap she lives in with her brother, Pietro.  
“If I had the money, tata,” she says with a shrug.  
Bucky grumbles quietly but lets the subject drop, half listening to the debate about what the technical challenge will be, while the room fills up with the other contestants. Steve and Luis arrive together, fetching breakfast and coffee before joining the table.  
Steve sits next to Bucky, and he feels an odd lurch of relief deep in his gut.  
“You feelin’ okay?” he asks softly, leaning in close.  
Steve nods and gives Bucky a small smile.  
They finish up and make their way to the lobby, Maria counts them off, and they make their way to the estate for another weekend of baking.

Phil greets them and leads them down to the Baking Marquee. Jane and Thor have travelled in separate taxis, Jane riding with Bruce and Wanda, Thor with T’Challa and Alexander. Bucky notes his hunched shoulders and bowed head. Thor had fallen for Jane the first day, and followed her around like an oversized puppy. With Jane distant and Darcy gone, the guy must feel lonely.  
Bucky taps Steve on the arm and tells him to hold on a minute before catching up to Thor and lightly touching his shoulder.  
“Hey, you need anything? Company?” he asks.  
Thor gives him a wounded look that could give Steve a run for his money, so Bucky pats him on the back, which feels like patting a brick wall, and reassures him that things will get better. Thor lunges at him, grabbing him in a bear hug and damn near lifts him off the ground.  
“My friend,” Thor chokes into his shoulder.  
Bucky can’t get enough air in his lungs to respond, so just pats him on the arm and grunts reassuringly until Thor lets go. Steve comes over to join them and they walk to the Marquee. Thor thanks them again and goes to his counter at the front of the tent. Steve and Bucky hang back, watching him put on his apron and nod to Luis, who has the counter next to him and is distracting him with his usual machine gun fire of chatter.  
“You think they’ll be okay?” Steve wonders.  
Bucky shrugs. “They can only do their best, Steve.” He presses his hand to the small of Steves back and gently pushes him forward. “That’s all any of us can do.”  
They walk over to their counters. Bucky is right at the back of the Marquee, Alexander to his left, Jane in front of him. Steve is somewhere down the middle. The arrangement makes Bucky anxious, his unit spread out and difficult to keep sight of. He shakes his head and puts on his apron, reminding himself that they’re not in hostile territory, it’s just the producers of the show trying to rattle them up by dividing up the groups.  
Alexander looks deeply uncomfortable at his side. No doubt the producers have put them together in the hopes for a repeat of last weeks incident, but this time with a camera crew ready and waiting.  
Bucky sighs and rolls his shoulders, working the stiff muscles loose. He wonders if Bruce has brought enough chamomile tea to share. 

The hosts arrive, and quickly figure out what's going on between Thor and Jane. They give each other a nod and separate, Natasha going to Jane and Clint to Thor. Bucky watches them fuss over the couple, then quietly confer with each other.  
The hosts arrive, Peggy elegantly dressed and wearing blood red lipstick. Nick scowling in leather. Phil waves everyone into position and the cameras start rolling.  
Natasha welcomes everyone to the tent and announces the weekend's challenges will be substitutions. Clint follows with the first challenge of the day, a vegan cheesecake.  
Nick gives them a time limit and Peggy wishes them good luck.

Bucky weighs out cashew nuts and soaks them in hot water, setting them to one side. He preheats the oven before he measures vegan margarine and sugar into a bowl and beats them together with a wooden spoon until pale and fluffy. He adds vanilla extract and lemon zest, giving the mix a quick stir before sifting in flour and bringing the mixture together to form a soft dough. He wraps the dough in cling film, marks it with a B and puts it in the fridge to chill.  
He glances around the room, but can’t get a clear view of Steve and the others. He watches Jane make her chocolate base, calm and methodical, before getting back to work.  
He rolls out the lemon biscuit dough, cutting it into small circles and arranging them on a baking tray, sliding it into the oven and setting a timer. He sets out a cooling rack and cleans down the counter, carefully washing biscuit dough off the prosthetic.  
The timer goes off and he crouches down in front of the oven to check the biscuits. They look golden around the edges, so he straightens up and opens the oven door. He can see Alexander watching him out of the corner of his eye, so uses the prosthetic hand to pull out the baking sheet and slide the biscuits onto the rack.  
He leaves them to cool while he fetches a blender and starts getting together the ingredients for his cheesecake. He unwraps his package of tofu and drops it into the blender, along with the cashew nuts and some sweet almond oil. He pulses the blender until the mixture is smooth, pausing occasionally to scrape down the sides with a spatula and give everything a stir. When he’s pretty sure it’s all smooth he adds lemon juice, cornstarch and sugar, blitzing everything again until he’s happy with the consistency.  
He pops a biscuit into his mouth. It’s sweet and sharp with lemon, and he’s pretty pleased with it, so he scoops most of the biscuits into a plastic bag and bashes it with a rolling pin until he has fine crumbs.  
He’s melting margarine in a pan when Nick and Peggy come over.

“What are you making for us today?” Peggy asks brightly.  
“Cashew and lemon,” he says, handing her a biscuit. He doesn’t offer one to Nick, and thwacks his hand with a wooden spoon when he reaches for one. Peggy beams at him and nibbles her biscuit.  
“Is this a refrigerated cheesecake or baked?” Nick asks instead.  
“Baked. It’s Italian style, has a sort of grainy texture, like ricotta cheesecake.”  
Peggy swallows the last of her biscuit. “And will it be plain or do you have a finish in mind?”  
“Balsamic strawberries.” Bucky winks at her and she gives him a wicked grin in return.  
“I look forward to it.”

Bucky tips the biscuit crumbs into the margarine and stirs before emptying the pan into a springform tin, pressing the crumbs into a smooth layer with the back of a spoon and puts it in the oven, setting the timer for ten minutes and dropping it into his apron pocket.  
He walks across the Marquee to Steve’s counter, resting his hip against the varnished pine and watching Steve pull his cake tin out of the oven. Steve has opted for a pastry base instead of biscuit crumbs, and he frets over the bake before setting it to one side and looking up at Bucky with a bright smile.  
“How’s it going?” Bucky asks softly, keeping his voice pitched low in case there’s a camera crew lurking nearby.  
Steve nods and pokes a spoon into his blender, scooping up a sample of pale, lemon scented mixture. He holds it out to Bucky. His hand is shaking slightly. Bucky takes the spoon and shoves it in his mouth. It’s sweet and sharp with a coconut aftertaste.  
“Really good,” he says firmly.  
Steve frowns. “You sure? Whatever I do it still tastes like fucking tofu.”  
“It is fucking tofu.”  
Steve opens his mouth to argue, then stops, snapping his jaw shut. Bucky grins at him and licks the spoon clean. The timer goes off in his pocket, so Bucky gives Steve a salute and heads back to his counter.  
He takes the base out of the oven and checks it, setting it to one side to cool a little while he adjusts the oven temperature and checks his cheesecake filling. It’s sharp and rich, so he adds a little more sugar. He gives it a quick mix and scrapes the contents of the blender into the tin, smoothing the surface down. He checks the springform is properly in place, lifts the tin up and drops it onto the counter. The sharp smack of it hitting the counter makes Alexander look up, a flash of annoyance crossing his features when he sees nothing disastrous has happened.  
“Air bubbles,” Bucky tells him cheerfully.  
Alexander looks away without comment and Bucky cleans the edges of the tin with a damp cloth. When he’s happy with the finish he puts it in the oven and sets the timer for fifty minutes.

Bucky cleans up and heads over to the kettle to make coffee only to find Steve already there. Bucky makes green tea for Wanda and chamomile for Bruce, taking them over to their counters. Bruce is already looking frazzled and takes the mug gratefully. Wanda has her cheesecake baking in the oven and is making artful decorations with melted dairy-free chocolate, swearing softly in Sokovian under her breath as she works. Bucky drops a couple of lemon biscuits on her counter and leaves her to it, taking a coffee and a couple of biscuits to Luis, who trades him for a handful of ginger and almond biscuits.  
He finds Steve sat on the floor in front of his oven, his back resting on the counter behind him. Bucky sits down next to him and offers him some biscuits. Steve accepts them and they sit together, staring at the oven and chewing on biscuits while Steve talks softly about his latest commission work, sketching composition in the air with crumb flecked fingers. Bucky thinks Luis’ biscuits are better, though Steve claims to prefer the lemon ones.

Bucky’s timer goes off and he gets to his feet, wishing good luck to Steve as he heads back to his counter. He passes Thor, who has had Natasha at his side for the whole challenge so far, offering quiet encouragement as he works. Clint has taken up permanent residence at Jane's counter, distracting her with a steady stream of bad jokes and embarrassing anecdotes.  
Bucky checks his oven and opens the door, giving the tin a little shake to see if it still wobbles. He gives it another five minutes, then pulls it out of the oven and sets to one side to rest before he gets together his topping ingredients.  
The strawberries could be a little riper, but he removes the hulls and rinses them, giving them a quick shake off before cutting into thin slices and dropping them into a bowl. He measures out balsamic vinegar and sugar into the bowl, gives them a stir and puts them in the fridge to chill. He hears Luis swearing and heads over to his counter to see him pulling a cheesecake out of the oven. It’s golden and firm, but the top is cracked.  
“Fuck,” Luis utters emphatically.  
Bucky puts an arm around his shoulders and squeezes, and Luis wraps an arm around his waist in turn.  
“It looks good,” Bucky offers.  
“It’s fuckin’ cracked,” Luis grumbles, resting his head on Bucky's shoulder.  
Bucky studies the countertop, there’s a tray of pecans dipped in caramel, a can of coconut cream and jars of spices. “You were gonna finish with candied pecans, right?”  
Luis nods glumly.  
“Did you say whole candied pecans?”  
Luis lets out a little squeak. “Pecan crunch. You fucking angel.” Luis gives Bucky a loud, wet kiss on the cheek and rushes to find a food processor. Bucky retreats to his table, wiping his face and chuckling.

Natasha calls out the last few minutes remaining and Bucky swears under his breath, carefully removing the cheesecake from its tin and transferring it to a display stand. He manages to move it without anything cracking, and fetches the strawberries from the fridge to pile of top. Natasha calls time before he can add any other decorations, though honestly he had no real idea what else he could do.  
Clint tells everyone to put their bakes at the end of their counters and wait for the judges.  
Bucky puts his bake in position and walks over to Luis, who wraps both arms around his waist and tries to crush his ribcage.  
Steve comes over to them, smiling as Luis thumps his head against Bucky’s shoulder.  
“Okay?” Bucky murmurs. Steve nods and slips his hands into his pockets, stepping backwards when Luis makes a grab for him. Bucky manages to wrestle his way free and checks on Wanda, whose chocolate peanut butter creation makes him feel woefully inadequate.  
Phil calls everyone to their counters so the camera crew can get footage of their creations, everyone posing stiffly next to their bakes and trying not to stare into the lens, and the judging begins.

Steve is approached first, and Bucky sidles over to the far end of his counter to watch the judging. They cut into the cheesecake and Peggy compliments him on the flavour and the candied lemon slices he’s decorated it with. Although the pastry base isn’t soggy, Nick still dislikes it, stating that cheescake should have a biscuit base. Peggy suggests that he mention that when setting the challenge in future before giving Steve a bright smile and moving to the next contestant.  
The judges go to Thor's counter next to try his mango and coconut cheesecake. Peggy expresses disappointment that the cheesecake is chilled rather than baked, but likes the flavours. Nick finds the mango compote topping too sweet. For a moment Thor looks like he might throw a punch, but nods and accepts the comment when Natasha leans forward to murmur in his ear.  
Luis is next with his pumpkin and pecan cake. Peggy loves the spiced biscuit base and quickly spots the liberal quantities of rum in there. Luis flirts with her shamelessly, and ignores Nicks comments on the finish looking messy. Peggy chides him for it, but smiles while doing so.  
Alexander follows with a lime and coconut refridgerated cheesecake. Peggy calls it a well executed bake and remarks on how much a perfectionist he is. Nick likes the sharp flavours, but considers the recipe too safe, much to Alexander's annoyance.  
The judges cross over to Bucky’s counter to try his Italian lemon cheesecake. Peggy loves the flavour and the sharpness of the balsamic strawberries. Nick finds the cheesecake texture too grainy. Bucky bites his tongue at that and thanks Peggy for her feedback. She pats him on the back of his prosthetic hand and winks, and Bucky wonders if she’d heard about the fight last week.  
Jane is next with a lavender raw cheesecake. Although the finish is beautiful, with crystallised lavender flowers and curls of lemon zest, the judges find the set too soft, and the base of dates and soaked almonds is too chewy. Jane accepts their comments silently. Clint, who is still hovering at the edge of her counter, pats her back awkwardly while she dabs at her eyes and tries to smile.  
T’Challa follows with a cinnamon cheesecake with an elegant swirled finish. The pastry base has been rolled out paper thin and sandwiched with layers of ground almond and brown sugar, giving it a crunch that Nick can’t find fault with.  
Wanda is next with a chocolate peanut butter cheesecake. The base is dark chocolate crumb, topped with peanut butter and banana cheesecake and decorated with a Jackson Pollock of chocolate and peanut sauces, with piped chocolate decorations. Peggy calls it delightfully indulgent and savours every mouthful. Nick dismisses it as too sweet. Natasha calls him something in Russian that makes Clint laugh so hard he starts coughing.  
Bruce is last with a banoffee refrigerator cake. The toffee flavour comes from dates, which gives the finished bake a richness that Peggy likes. Nick calls it too sweet. Clint eats a whole slice to himself while they argue.

Phil checks that the cameramen have everything they need and the contestants gather around the counters to fret over the judges comments and try each others cheesecakes. Luis wields his fork like a deadly weapon and goes after Wanda. Bucky watches with a smile as they pick at each others bakes and interrogate each other over their techniques.  
Steve brings his bake over to Bucky’s counter with a quiet greeting. Bucky grins at him and shoves the strawberry cheesecake a little closer to him. Steve jabs a fork into the strawberries, making a surprised little sound of pleasure when he tastes them.  
“I miss you,” Bucky blurts out. He scrambles to explain himself, but Steve nods his head.  
“Yeah. It’s weird being placed so far away.” Steve looks around the room, at Alexander and Jane making polite conversation, at Thor moping in the corner. “I don’t like it.”  
He flushes pink and clamps his mouth shut, picking up a fork to poke at the cheesecake.  
“They’re fucking with us,” Bucky mutters. Steve doesn’t argue with the assessment.  
Phil comes over and gestures for Bucky to follow him outside.  
“See you at lunch?” Bucky lays his hand on Steve’s shoulder for a moment. Steve nods and smiles, small and fragile.  
Phil leads Bucky over the little stone footbridge that crosses the river and positions him in front of the rushes. The cameraman checks the light levels while Phil moves around to find the best angle. Bucky waits patiently, his hands in his pockets until Phil tells him to stop slouching.

_Bucky runs a hand through his hair, scratching at his scalp absently.  
“Yeah. Tough week this one.”  
He lets out a heavy sigh and shakes his head, looking down at the grass at his feet before looking up at the camera with a rueful smile.  
“But you do your best, right?” He tucks his hair behind his ear. “And my best isn’t Luis’, or Steve’s, or Wanda’s.” He frowns and bites his lip. “No one’s best is Wanda’s best. She’s like, off the chart.” He waves a hand over his head.  
“You do your best.”_

Bucky wanders down to the catering van and finds the other contestants eating overcooked pasta and discussing the signature bakes. He takes his plate of food over to the trestle tables, and Steve pats the empty seat next to him. Wanda and Jane are engrossed in conversation and Luis is sitting over with Thor, chattering away and trying to raise a smile. He’s not getting very far, but Thor looks less depressed than when he’s stuck with Alexander.  
“How are they doing?” Bucky asks while he prods at his pasta.  
Steve pushes his half eaten plate away. “Could be better,” he says finally.  
“You?” Bucky stabs half heartedly at an olive.  
“Could be worse,” Steve says with a shrug.  
They watch as Phil leads another contestant off for an interview.  
“Things are gonna get tougher,” Bucky mutters. “The challenges will be harder, can’t screw up and hope for the best.”  
Steve nods and grimaces. “You worried?”  
Bucky shakes his head. “Never thought I’d get through the application. It’s a fuckin’ mystery why I’m still here.”  
Steve bumps their shoulders together. “You’re here because you’re good,” he says softly.  
“Not that good,” Bucky replies. There’s no resentment in his tone.  
“I thought I’d be in the final. I thought I’d…” Steve hesitates, then shakes his head.  
Bucky slides an arm around his waist, hand resting on his hip and squeezing gently.  
“You are gonna be in the final, Stevie,” he murmurs. “You’ll write your own cookbooks, draw pretty pictures in them.”  
Steve grins, shaking his head. “And what about you?”  
“I’ll be tappin’ you for cash every chance I get.”  
Steve lets out a laugh, pressing his hand to his chest like his heart is going to burst.  
“You’re such a jerk, you know that?” He laughs.  
Bucky chuckles and shoves another forkful of pasta in his mouth, chewing until the urge to say something sentimental passes.

Phil summons them back to the Marquee and they take their places at their counters while the judges and hosts assume their positions at the front of the tent. Natasha introduces the Technical Challenge, describing for the cameras how they will be given a basic set of instructions, giving an opportunity for the bakers to display their knowledge and expertise.  
Nick announces the challenge - six gluten free millet pancakes. He pointedly comments that he wants the pancakes to taste predominantly of millet, and Bucky gets a bad feeling in his gut. This is not going to be good.  
Clint reminds the cameras that the challenge is tested blind, and sends the judges from the tent. Peggy wishes them all good luck, and gives them a sympathetic look before leaving the Marquee.  
They are given a time limit and set to work.

Bucky turns over his recipe sheet and reads the ingredients list. After a moment he turns the page again. Then checks that he’s not missing a second sheet. On the far side of the tent, Luis has started swearing.  
There are no quantities listed, just a list of ingredients: millet flour, oat flour, egg and milk, plus oil for frying.  
Thor starts swearing. His vocal range is impressive.  
Bucky sighs and fetches a bowl. He cracks an egg into it and whisks it up. Nick wanted a strong millet flavour, so he adds two parts millet flour to one part oat flour and hopes for the best. He adds enough milk to bring it to the consistency of single cream and puts it in the fridge to rest before heading over to check on Luis.  
It takes a good ten minutes to get Luis calmed down and with a pancake batter he’s happy with. Bucky quickly checks on Steve, who is heating oil in his pan and Wanda, who is scrubbing her pan clean after a failed first attempt. She waves at him to get back to his own bake before drying off her pan and starting again.  
Clint is shadowing Jane, who is near tears with her batter, while Natasha is making Bruce do deep breathing exercises.  
Bucky heats up oil in a pan and fetches his batter from the fridge. He does a test blob of batter, watching for bubbles to start appearing around the edge before flipping it over and cooking the other side. Despite being so small the test piece still breaks up when he flips it. He scrapes it out of the pan and lets it cool for a minute before tasting it.  
It’s disgusting.  
The pancake is gritty and gluey at the same time. He resists the urge to spit the damn thing out, and after a moment of fretting over the batter adds a dash of oil and stirs it in, reasoning that it can’t make things worse.  
After a few experiments, he manages to make a small pancake that just about more or less hold it together when he turns it. The results still taste like crap.

There is a crash from the front of the Marquee. Bucky looks up and sees the broken bowl and pancake batter on the floor by Thor’s counter, sees him snatch up his frying pan and storm towards the exit.  
Bucky turns off his stove and follows Thor outside, keeping quiet but close as Thor strides across the grass to the footbridge and throws the frying pan into the river with a roar. He keeps his distance as Thor walks up and down the grassy bank cursing up a storm, putting his hand out to stop Clint from getting any closer when he comes rushing up.  
“Give him a minute, let him get it out of his system.” Bucky says quietly.  
Clint nods silently and they watch Thor as he slows down and finally sits on the grass, his head in his hands.  
Clint gives Bucky a look, waiting for a nod of agreement before slowly moving forward. Bucky follows, sitting on the grass on one side of Thor while Clint squats down on the other.  
They sit in silence, watching the river flow past. The water is clear and shallow. They can see the frying pan resting on the stony riverbed, the rushing waters slowly scouring it clean.  
“I have failed,” Thor says, his voice low and remorseful.  
Bucky nods. “Yeah.”  
Clint looks horrified and waves a hand at Bucky, who shakes his head and gestures to be quiet.  
“But it’s okay. It doesn’t matter that you fucked up, what matters is how you handle it.”  
Thor glances at Bucky, his gaze lingering on the metal hand resting in Bucky’s lap.  
“I can’t go back,” he mutters.  
Bucky smiles. “Course you can.”  
Thor shakes his head. “I don’t have a pan.”  
“We’ll get you another.”  
Thor frowns. “I cast away my batter.”  
“You can share mine.”  
Thor smiles, despite himself. “You are very stubborn.”  
“You have no idea,” Bucky flashes him a grin, getting to his feet. “C’mon,” he says and starts walking back to the Marquee. After a moment Thor gets to his feet and follows.

Clint keeps close behind them, watching while Bucky leads Thor to his counter and turns on the stove, setting two frying pans on the hob and passing over the oil and batter to Thor.  
They work in silence, pouring batter and carefully turning their pancakes until Natasha comes over and gently tells them that time is up. Bucky has managed four pancakes in total, Thor has three.  
Natasha hands them a plate each and they arrange their finished pancakes. Neither comments on the silence in the Marquee, just keep their heads down and get on with their work.  
Clint clears his throat and tells everyone to put their bakes at the front. The customary table has been set up with its red check cloth and row of photos to mark where each bake should go. Bucky leads Thor down to the front with their plates and sets them both in position before joining the other contestants on the row of stools in front of the judges table.  
Steve shifts along so Bucky and Thor can sit between him and Wanda. When Thor sits down Wanda wraps her arms around him. He bows his head and clutches her forearms silently.  
Nick and Peggy enter the tent, Phil with them, muttering and pointing to the row of pancakes, clearly informing them of the substitute batter, though making no indication of which contestant it is. After a moment of conferring, Phil retreats out of view of the cameras and the judging begins.

Nick walks up and down the table commenting on the varied sizes and finishes of the pancakes. They try the first pancake, Peggy suppressing a grimace when she takes a bite. Clint tries a piece and spits it back into his hand, asking if they’re supposed to be like that. When Nick tells him it’s a good bake Clint shakes his head and backs away from the table.  
They work their way down the table, Nick prodding the pancakes and complaining that they don’t have enough millet flour in them. Peggy mutters darkly that she’d be happy for them to have a lot less.  
They reach Thor's plate and he stiffens in Wanda’s arms. Nick notes how they can’t comment on the batter, as it wasn’t made by the contestant, but adds that they are well made, even if there aren’t enough of them.  
Wanda’s are the best, by far. She has managed to make lacy, delicate crepes that Peggy is happy to eat. Nick complains that there isn’t enough millet in them, and Peggy laughs and tells him that’s the reason she likes them so much.

The judges rank the crepes from worst to best. No one is shocked when Thor comes last. Bucky is next, simply because he didn’t produce enough pancakes to complete the challenge. Thor gives him an apologetic look and Bucky murmurs reassurances to him. Steve slips his hand around Bucky’s wrist and squeezes, too anxious to even care that it’s the prosthetic hand he’s holding onto. Bucky twists loose of his grip and links their fingers together, leaning close enough to whisper in his ear so the cameras can’t pick up his voice.  
“Ain’t going nowhere,” he murmurs softly.  
Steve nods, his mouth an unhappy little line. He doesn’t let go of Bucky's hand, keeping their index and middle fingers loosely curled. The prosthetic registers heat and pressure, but not the kick in Bucky's chest.  
Steve comes in third, followed by T’Challa. Wanda comes in first place. Peggy notes that it’s her second technical challenge win in a row, giving Nick a pointed look.  
The camera's film the contestants congratulating each other, though it’s a subdued affair. Thor hugs Bucky painfully tightly, and Bucky hugs him back one armed, his other hand still tangled in Steve's grip.  
Phil picks out a few contestants to do interviews with while the remainders drink coffee and huddle together quietly until Phil herds them to the waiting taxis and send them back to the hotel.

Despite no one really having an appetite they agree to meet for dinner. Bucky heads up to his room with Steve at his heels. Steve is still twitchy and restless, so Bucky sits him in one of the overstuffed chintzy armchairs with a cup of tea and makes him talk about his Showstopper Challenge until he calms down. Bucky rants about agave nectar and jaguarundi to Steve’s quiet amusement until it’s time to go downstairs and join the other contestants.  
The mood around the table is sombre, everyone tired and worn down by the difficult day. Bucky manages to get Luis to talk about the patisserie he’s planning with Scott, which is going well. They’ve signed a lease and need to start fixing the place up. Bucky offers to help out, which gets him a punch on the arm from Luis.  
The contestants leave the table one by one, Steve electing to take Thor back to his room when he starts to doze off at the table, murmuring goodnight to everyone before leading him to the stairs. Bucky gets to his feet and gestures for Wanda to get up.  
“ _Să dormi_ ,” he tells her quietly.  
“ _Já nejsem unavená_ ,” she yawns, but rises from her chair and wraps her arm around Bucky’s waist. He curls his arm around her shoulders and walks her to her room. He presses a kiss to her forehead and says goodnight before walking down to his room and wrestling with the key, finally getting the door open.  
He kicks off his shoes and gets ready for bed, falling asleep as soon as he hits the mattress.

Bucky wakes up early. The nightmare was pretty tame, considering, but still leaves him feeling uneasy. He showers and dresses before he goes through his physio, relishing in the stretch and flex of muscle. He packs up his bag and checks that he hasn’t left anything in the room before pulling on his shoes and slipping out the door, padding quietly down the hallway. He drops his bag in the lobby and goes outside to get some fresh air. He doesn’t see Steve out for his morning run, not that he’s looking or anything.  
It’s chilly despite the clear skies, so he goes back inside, ambling to the dining room in search of coffee.  
Bruce is already there, eating a pastry and drinking juice. Bucky pours a cup of coffee and grabs a bagel before joining him.  
“No fruit salad?” he asks with a small smile.  
Bruce shakes his head. “You did good yesterday,” he says abruptly, then ducks his head down nervously. Bucky smiles at him.  
“Thanks. Don’t know if it helped.”  
“It helped,” Bruce says.  
They eat in silence while the room slowly fills with contestants. Wanda joins them with coffee, but after a few minutes of quiet growling from Bucky fetches herself a croissant, biting into it with a pointed glare at him.  
Steve and Thor arrive last, having been out for a morning run together. Thor is in better spirits, and works his way through a heap of pastries with disturbing speed. Steve takes a seat next to Bucky, bumping their shoulders together in a quiet greeting.  
Bruce checks his watch and sighs. “Once more unto the breach,” he mutters.  
They file into the lobby and Maria send them and their bags out to the waiting taxis and another day of baking.

Phil meets the contestants and leads them to the Baking Marquee. Steve lingers at Bucky’s counter while the camera crews set up for the day and Phil does a few one-to-one interviews.  
Bucky finally gives Steve a gentle shove and tells him to go get set up. Steve gives him a guilty look and walks down to his counter. Bucky keeps his head down and absolutely does not watch him walk away.  
Clint and Natasha arrive, checking up on everyone and paying extra attention to Jane and Thor. Jane looks tired and distracted, Thor is quiet but calm.  
The judges finally appear and position themselves at the front of the tent, and the day's challenge begins.  
Clint introduces the Showstopper challenge, describing for the cameras how it’s an opportunity for the bakers to showcase their talents and produce something delicious and spectacular. Peggy announces the challenge itself, a sugar free celebration cake.  
The cameras move around the room taking reaction shots of the contestants before Nick tells them to get to work.

Bucky peels and grates several apples, putting them into a saucepan over a low heat. He sifts flour, baking powder and cocoa into a bowl and sets it to one side, going back to the pan to stir it as the apples break down into mush. He turns the heat up once he has a smooth puree and shifts his wooden spoon to his left hand and keeps it moving while the puree bubbles and spits. He can see Alexander watching him out of the corner of his eye and pauses to roll up his sleeves, because fuck it.  
He’s got the puree to a consistency he’s happy with when Nick and Peggy arrive at his counter with a camera crew in tow. For a moment he considers pulling down his sleeves, but Alexander is still glowering at him, so he leaves them in place.  
“What are you making for us today?” Peggy asks brightly, peering at the saucepan.  
“Chocolate cake,” he answers, still stirring the spitting pan. “Using banana and apple puree to sweeten.”  
Nick sniffs and picks up one of the bananas on the counter. “Apple puree is very wet.”  
“Which is why I’m reducing it down,” Bucky says with a forced smile. He lifts up the wooden spoon to show them the thick paste.  
“And how are you finishing it?” Peggy asks, putting herself between Nick and Bucky.  
“Chocolate ganache,” Bucky gives Peggy a smile.  
“Lovely,” she says and leads Nick away to the next counter.

Bucky preheats the oven, peels the bananas and mashes them in a bowl. They’re not as ripe as he’d like, but they’ll do. He adds the apple paste and stirs, checking the mix is cool enough to mix in the eggs and adding the flour a spoonful at a time. When he’s happy with the consistency of the batter he divides it equally between two cake tins and puts them in the oven. He sets a timer and shoves it into his apron pocket.  
He washes his hands and wipes down the counter before measuring cream into a small pan and breaking pieces of sugar free chocolate into it, putting it on a low heat and swirling the cream around in the pan.  
He does a quick check of the room, though no one seems to be struggling, before fetching a second pan and filling it with water. He sets it on a medium heat and sits a bowl on top, the base resting just above the water, and breaks chocolate into it. While the chocolate melts he arranges a couple of sheets of non stick paper and sorts out his piping bags.  
He fills the sink with cold water and searches around his counter for his temperature probe. The probe is a metal spike attached by a curled cord to a digital readout, and essential for tempering chocolate. He figures out how to turn it on and pokes it into his bowl of melted chocolate, watching the reading creep up until it reaches 45°C. He whips the bowl off the pan with his metal hand, ignoring the temperature gauges in his prosthetic signalling _heat_ and places the bowl in the sink, careful not to get any water into the chocolate. He stirs the chocolate until the readout drops down to 28°C and moves it back to the pan of simmering water.  
“Whatcha doing?” a voice asks behind him, making him flinch and drop his spoon.  
Bucky looks up and sees Clint to one side watching him with a cameraman behind him. He huffs and smiles for the camera.  
“Tempering chocolate.” He picks up the spoon and drops it in the sink, fetching another and stirring the chocolate. “If you want your chocolate to snap, you gotta temper it. Heat it up, cool it down, heat it up again.”  
The chocolate comes up to temperature and Bucky removes it from the heat, scraping half of it into a piping bag and pouring the other half onto one of his prepared sheets. He grabs a palette knife and smoothes the chocolate in an even layer over the sheet before handing the palette knife over to Clint, who lets out a happy little chuckle and starts licking the blade clean.  
Bucky pipes out chocolate shapes, experimenting with designs before settling on a five pointed star, which he can make fairly quickly and neatly. When he’s finished he sticks the nozzle of the piping bag in his mouth and squirts out the last of the chocolate, glancing up at the cameraman who’s filming him and grinning before getting back to work.

The cakes still need a couple of minutes, so Bucky checks on the ganache, giving it a stir before pouring it into a bowl and putting it in the fridge to chill. He drops the pan in the sink and sets out some wire racks, clearing the counter when Steve appears with coffee.  
“Hey Buck,” Steve says softly, holding out coffee.  
Bucky grabs the cup and takes a sip, mumbling thanks. Steve leans against the counter and watches while Bucky checks the cakes and pulls them out of the oven.  
“You okay?” Bucky asks while he checks the cakes, unclipping the springform tin and sliding each one onto a rack.  
Steve nods, cradling his mug of coffee to his chest and Bucky can practically see the anxiety rolling off him in gentle waves. He slides the last cake on the rack before taking the cup out of Steve's hands, setting it on the counter and pulling him into a hug. Steve goes lax against him, resting his head on Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky presses a hand to the small of his back, uncomfortably aware that there is a camera on them. He pulls back far enough to meet Steve's eye, tilting his head and giving Steve a reassuring smile.  
“C’mon, Rogers.” He pats Steve with the flat of his hand. “Back to work.”  
Steve nods and pulls away slowly, picking up his coffee cup and hesitating for a moment.  
“Thanks, Buck,” he says quietly, before walking away.

Bucky sets up the freestanding mixer, pushing in the whisk attachment and scraping in the chilled ganache from the fridge. He flicks the switch and leaves it to whip up while he finishes his coffee. He pours cream into a separate bowl and whisks it to stiff peaks by hand and spoons it into a piping bag.  
He carefully slices the two cakes in half horizontally, placing the first layer on a cake stand and piping the whipped cream over the top in loose rosettes. He carefully positions the second layer and pipes cream, alternating layers of cake and whipped cream until he sets the final cake layer on top, carefully pressing it until it’s level.  
He scoops half the whipped ganache onto the cake and dips a palette knife in hot water, using it it evenly spread the frosting over the sides of the cake. He uses the remaining ganache on the top of the cake, smoothing it over until it’s even and glossy.  
He peels the tempered chocolate off its non-stick sheet and breaks it into shards, piling them onto the top of the cake and tucking the piped stars in amongst the rubble.  
Bucky steps back and resists the urge to fiddle around with the results, absently licking ganache off his fingers. He washes his hands and wipes the base of the cake stand with a damp cloth, dropping it back into the sink and heading down to the front of the Marquee to see how Steve is doing, checking in on Luis on the way.

Luis is completely absorbed in decorating his cake, covering the sides with a wall of tempered white chocolate shards, so Bucky leaves him be.  
Steve is finishing his cake in marbled swirls of dark and white chocolate. Bucky rests his elbows on the counter and watches him work with a stiff, fine brush and bamboo skewer and has a sudden urge to watch him paint. To watch the stiffness leave his frame and the tension ease from his brow as he moves in fluid, elegant lines, completely absorbed in his work. Steve doesn’t notice Bucky watching him until he steps back, dropping his tools on the counter.  
Bucky waves a hand and Steve blushes bright crimson, wiping his sticky fingers on his khakis and trying not to act flustered.  
“Oh. Hey,” he stutters, which is too fucking endearing.  
“Hey, looks beautiful,” Bucky says with a smile. Steve lets out an embarrassed little laugh and rubs his hand through his hair, leaving streaks of ganache on his brow.  
Bucky clicks his tongue. “C’mere,” he mutters, leaning forward to wipe the smudge of chocolate away.  
Steve holds very still while Bucky brushes a thumb across his temple. “You get it?” he asks quietly.  
“Yeah,” Bucky licks his thumb clean.  
Steve taps restlessly on the counter for a moment before fetching a damp cloth to clean off the cake stand. Bucky watches him fidget, cleaning his hands and looking everywhere but at him.  
Natasha calls time and Bucky straightens up to go back to his counter, giving Steve a gentle nudge as he passes. Steve swats at him with his damp cloth and calls him an asshole while Bucky dodges out of the way. Clint tells them to break it up and hustles Bucky to the back of the Marquee for the shots of the bakers with their creations before the judging.

The judging table is set up at the front. Nick and Peggy take their places behind the table and call their first contestant down.  
T’Challa is called first, carrying his spiced apple cake. Peggy loves the look of the cake, with layers of sponge, whipped cinnamon cream and apple compote topped with honey streusel. Nick admits that it’s good. Natasha and Clint fight over what's left of the slice, bickering affectionately.  
Bucky comes next, winking at Steve as he walks past. Steve ducks his head but smiles brightly.  
Peggy is pleased with the tempering of his chocolate and the finish on the ganache, and compliments him on the decoration. Nick says it looks good, but could be sweeter. Bucky resists the urge to suggest that if he wants sweet cakes he should allow sugar to be one of the ingredients, but lets Natasha pick off all the chocolate stars and eat them.  
Thor is called down to the judges with his spiced apple cake. Peggy tells him he’s done well and pats him on the arm. Nick tells him the cake is good, but not impressive enough to be a showstopper. Thor nods and accepts their comments without complaint, and Bucky can see that the competition is already over for him.  
Wanda is next with a cherry and almond cake. The sides are spread with whipped cream and coated in toasted flaked almonds, the top a pile of fresh cherries. Peggy adores the rich almond cream and sour cherry jam filling. Nick frowns at the cake, trying to find fault with it. He finally admits that it’s good and sends her away, much to Peggy's amusement.  
Bruce is next with a blueberry and vanilla layer cake. Peggy likes the alternating layers of sponge, cream and fresh blueberries. Nick is convinced that the stevia used to sweeten it leaves an unpleasant aftertaste.  
Jane follows with a chocolate layer cake with sugar free strawberry jam and ganache filling. The top is decorated with chocolate covered strawberries. Peggy likes the idea, but feels that the execution could be better. Nick finds the chocolate too gritty. Natasha tells her the cake is perfect and steals another strawberry from the top.  
Steve is called to the front next with his mocha marble cake. Peggy enthuses over the decoration as well as the cake itself, which is rich and bittersweet. Nick dismisses it as pretty good.  
Luis follows with his white chocolate raspberry cake. Peggy is pleased with the tempering of the white chocolate and the presentation. Luis grins at her, ignoring Nicks comments about too much framboise liqueur in the cake. Luis winks at him and tells him to lighten up, which makes Peggy chuckle softly.  
Alexander comes last with a date and walnut cake. Peggy likes the flavour but finds it too dense. Nick hates it, much to Alexander's surprise.

The judges leave to discuss the weekend's challenges while the contestants cluster around each other's counters to try the cakes and hash out the comments they received. Phil gathers up the last few contestants who haven’t been interviewed yet and takes them outside with the camera crew.  
Bucky takes his cake down to the front of the Marquee and joins Steve at his counter. Now that it’s become obvious that Thor is leaving the competition, Steve is being less twitchy, and relaxes beside Bucky, leaning into him while he nibbles on a shard of tempered chocolate.  
Phil sends them off to lunch, and they amble across the grass to the catering vans. If anyone notices Thor and Jane hanging back to exchange a few words, they don’t comment on it, nor do they mention it when the pair sit side by side at the trestle table at lunch.  
Bucky smothers a yawn and slumps back in his chair. He’s never been happier to see the end of a baking weekend. Luis and Wanda are in a deep discussion about some kind of French patisserie, Steve listening intently and occasionally contributing. He feels an intense burst of gratitude to get another week with the people he’s come to care so much about. Steve glances back at him, that open, almost vulnerable look on his face again. Bucky leans forward in his chair and rests his elbows on the table. Luis looks up at him and grins.  
“I don’t care what they do to us next weekend, so long as they don’t stick you the other end of the tent,” Luis says cheerfully. “I missed you face, man.”  
Bucky laughs and rubs the back of his neck, trying not to blush.  
“Yeah, I missed your ugly mug.” he agrees.  
Luis is still chuckling when Phil calls them back to the Marquee.

The contestants walk down to the row of stools placed in front of the judges and sit down, trying not to fidget while the cameras record them.  
Steve takes his usual position next to Bucky, their knees knocking together more by intention than accident.  
Natasha and Clint congratulate the group on a difficult weekend, alluding to Thor's storm out while he shakes his head apologetically. They inform the cameras that Nick and Peggy have decided who has been the best and worst baker of the weekend, the best winning Star Baker, the worst going home.  
Nick tells them that it was a difficult decision, but the winner is Wanda. She lets out a high pitched little sound and clamps her hand over her mouth. Peggy informs the group that she is sorry to say that the contestant who is leaving the group is Thor.  
She rushes forward to wrap her arms around him, murmuring apologies and condolences. Thor cradles her gently in his huge arms.  
Bucky pushes his way through the group to wrap his arms around Wanda, holding her tightly and whispering how damned proud his is. She buries her face in his shoulder and murmurs his name.  
The rest of the contestants gather around to congratulate Wanda, and Bucky reluctantly lets her go. He goes to say goodbye to Thor, who grabs him in a bearhug and calls him a ‘stalwart companion’, though he’s not entirely sure what that means. 

Phil checks that the camera crew has all the footage they need before handing out the challenges for next weekend, reminding the contestants of deadlines and rules. Steve takes his copy but still reads Bucky’s over his shoulder.  
“Pies and tarts,” Bucky says with a grin.  
Steve lets out a huff of relief.  
They walk down to the manor house where Maria is waiting with their luggage and phones. She hands out consent forms and itineraries, as well as the usual orders to stay off social media.  
They say their goodbyes and climb into the waiting taxis. Bucky throws an arm around Steve’s shoulders.  
“We’re still here,” he says, his voice soft with surprise.  
Steve nods and wraps his arms around Bucky’s waist, squeezing tightly.  
Maria tells them to get moving and they separate, getting into their waiting taxis.  
Bucky turns on his phone and reads through his messages, sending replies letting the guys know he’s still in the competition and seeing who’s available for DIY work at the patisserie in the week. He promises unlimited coffee and pastries, which is usually incentive enough for Dugan, at least.  
He sinks back in his seat and takes a moment to be grateful the weekend is over. He’s starting to doze off when his phone chimes at him. He thumbs it open to see a message from Steve with half a dozen links to food blogs complaining about millet pancakes.  
He chuckles to himself and starts reading.

\--------------

Millet Pancakes  
60g Millet flour  
30g Oat flour  
2tbs Cornflour  
2 tbs Sugar  
¾ cup Milk  
2 Eggs

Combine ingredients and chill for 30 minutes. Heat a large frying pan and coat with a thin film of oil. Add ¼ cup of batter and cook 1-2 minutes on a medium heat or until it starts bubbling round the edges. Flip and cook for another minute on the other side.  
Hurl into a river and eat a waffle instead.


	5. Pies and Tarts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint stares at his hand for a moment and goes a gentle shade of cerise around the ears. “You ever tried… uh?” He makes a very specific gesture with his hand and Bucky has a brief, terrible coughing fit, turning away from his pastry just in time before straightening up and trying _so hard_ not to laugh.   
>  “Well,” he says, biting his cheek. “In the heat of the moment anything can happen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey folks!
> 
> Behold! Pies and Tarts!   
> Clint's mind is in the gutter, and the plot thickens!
> 
> Say what you like about Stucky, Luis & Peggy is the true romance in this fic!  
> Thanks, as always, to my fabulous betas, Queenofthewips and Eidheann  
> Incidentally, the plum crumble cake is the reason i decided to write this fic, waaay back when I first watched Civil War, and got emotional over plums  
> Make it, it's bloody lovely!
> 
> desăvârşit - perfect  
> păpuşă - doll  
> fată deșteaptă - clever girl  
> dokonalý - perfect (czech)  
> Eu te iubesc al naibii - I fucking love you

Bucky gets out of the taxi, knocking the door shut with his hip while he hefts his bag onto his shoulder. He nods to the driver and watches the car slowly make its way down the gravel drive before walking up to the entrance.  
He pulls his phone out of his pocket as he walks into the lobby, checking for messages before turning it off. He looks up to see Bruce already at the reception desk taking his set of room keys from Maria.  
“Hey, Bruce,” he says quietly. Bruce looks slightly frazzled, his hair askew. “You okay?”  
Bruce shrugs, dropping his keys into his pocket. “Pastry is not my forte,” he mumbles.  
Bucky nods sympathetically. “Everything I’ve made this week has turned out like cardboard,” he says cheerfully. The less said about his Karelian pie the better.  
He hands over his phone to Maria, who makes a note on her clipboard and pushes a key across the reception desk.  
“How’s it going, Maria?” Bucky asks.  
“I hate every last one of you,” she replies with brittle cheer.  
Bucky snorts. “Weird ingredients?”  
Maria leans across her desk. “Hazelnut flour, Barnes.” She sits back, looking vindicated.  
Bucky shakes his head, looking over at Bruce, who shrugs his shoulders. Maria waves them away and they head over to the stairs, parting ways on the first landing. Bucky walks along the corridor, checking his key fob for his room number and unlocking his door.   
He kicks the door shut and toes off his shoes, dropping his bag at the foot of the bed and collapsing onto the mattress.

He wakes to a soft knock at the door, rubbing his eyes but staying in his position spreadeagled across the bed.  
“Hey, Steve,” he calls out and shoves his head back under the pillow.  
He hears the door open and a soft chuckle, the gentle click of the latch closing and, after a moment, a dip in the mattress as Steve sits on the edge of the bed.  
“Hey, Sleeping Beauty.”  
Bucky pulls his hand out from under the pillow long enough to give Steve the finger before letting it drop onto the bed. Steve chuckles again, soft and low.  
“I guess you get used to sleeping whenever you can in the army, yeah?”  
Bucky pushes his pillow away and blinks up at Steve, a bright gold blur until his eyes adjust to the light.  
“Yeah. I don’t sleep so well most nights so…” He sits up, yawning and scrubbing his fingers through his hair. “Take it where you can get it.”  
Steve nods, looking worried. “If you’d rather get some sleep?”  
“Nah,” Bucky shakes his head. “It’ll be good to see everyone.”  
He drags himself to his feet, pausing to rotate his shoulder a few times. It’s still a little stiff from work at the Patisserie, building counters and plumbing in sinks. Plus his back has been steadily getting worse, with the weight of the prosthetic. But it feels good to have helped out. He washes his face in the bathroom sink and finger combs his hair, pulling on his shoes and giving Steve a quick turn.  
“Fit to be seen in public?” He asks with a grin.  
“Very,” Steve responds with a shy smile.  
Bucky locks up and they head down the stairs, elbows bumping into each other, to the lobby. The rest of the contestants are waiting around, one less than the previous week. The group is much quieter, less joyful without Thor's presence.   
Wanda reaches them first, reaching up to wrap her arms around Bucky's neck.   
“Hey, babydoll,” he says, hugging her tightly.  
“Don’t wrinkle my shirt,” she mutters in his ear.  
He snorts and lets go, making a point of brushing imaginary dirt off her shoulders.  
Luis comes tumbling over, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s waist and nearly sending him to the floor. He takes a step back, bracing himself and patting Luis on the back.  
“You fucking _angel_ ,” Luis exclaims, trying to crack at least three of Bucky’s ribs.  
“Settle down, Luis. It was just a sink.”  
Luis straightens up, looking aghast. “ _Two_ sinks. A counter and, like, shelves. A million.”  
“Yeah, had to make up for Dugan being there.”  
Luis bounces on his toes. “I fucking love Dugan, dude should go into Ultimate Wrestling or something.” Luis turns to Steve. “You met Dugan?”   
Steve shakes his head, looking over at Bucky. “One of your unit?” Bucky nods.  
“Dugan has the best stories,” Luis grins widely. “Like, one time in Kandahar Bucky-”  
“Bucky clamps his hand over Luis' mouth. “We’re not telling that story,” he says quickly.  
Luis sniggers against Buckys palm and he lets go, pointedly not looking at Steve while he tries to stifle a laugh.   
Maria comes to the rescue, doing a quick headcount and sending them down the road to the restaurant.

They take their seats around the table, a slightly smaller one this time. Bucky sits at the far end, Steve beside him, Luis and Wanda sat opposite. When Maria has taken their orders he leans forward to get Luis’ attention.  
“How’s Thor doing?”  
Luis drums his hands on the table. “Thor is great, back at work. Did you know he’s a park ranger? I mean, I figured he’d, like, make mead and whittle spoons while taming lions…”  
“Luis,” Bucky says patiently.  
“There’s a Shakespeare in the Park thing that he’s taking Jane to,” Luis leans forward to whisper. “They’re taking it slow.”  
Bucky nods, pleased. “Darcy got exams?”   
“Revising, but she had a party for the first episode in her halls.”   
The show had started airing the previous week. Bucky hadn’t watched it, the idea of seeing himself on TV gave him the creeps. Steve had texted him after to reassure him that he came off well. Bucky will admit to no one how relieved that made him.  
Food is brought out to the table and conversation comes to a halt while they eat, slowly picking up again as they finish up.  
“So,” Wanda says with a dangerous smile, “I want to hear some of these stories.”  
Luis leans back in his chair, well out of Bucky’s reach. “Okay, so Buck here got chased by a camel spider,” he begins.  
Bucky slumps forward in his chair, covering his face with his hands. “Those things are _huge_. It was as big as my face!”  
Steve strokes a comforting hand across Bucky's shoulders. “I’m sure it was very scary,” he soothes. “And you only had a little assault rifle to defend yourself with.”  
“Fuck you,” Bucky mutters without malice, leaning into Steve’s touch. Steve laughs softly, his heel of his hand moving in slow circles while Luis tells embarrassing stories.

Maria sends them back to the hotel, Bucky offering up silent thanks that Luis can string a tale for so long that he didn’t get to the really mortifying stories that Dugan had shared.   
They walk back to the hotel in clusters of twos and threes, Bucky not liking the way Luis and Wanda are huddled together conspiratorially and breaking them up. Steve, Wanda and Bruce walk on ahead while Luis hangs back, nodding to people as they walk past.   
When the rest of the contestants are inside and it’s just the two of them in the gathering dusk, he turns to Bucky.  
“So Steve is a decent guy,” he says after a moment of silence.  
Bucky nods. “Yeah, he’s alright.” He toes at the gravel drive and wonders where this is going.  
“You gonna ask him out?”  
Bucky didn’t know how easy it was to choke on your own tongue. Luis looks unimpressed as he coughs and struggles to breathe, patting him on the back until he can string a sentence together.  
“I… Don’t think he’s, y’know.” he says when he catches his breath. “Into guys.”  
Luis snorts derisively. “You kidding? Way he looks at you?”  
Bucky blinks at him for a moment. “How exactly does he look at me?”   
“Jeez, Buck. You can’t be that blind.” Luis shakes his head, throwing an arm around Bucky's shoulders. “Ask him, he’ll say yes. Fuckin’ guarantee it.”  
Bucky shakes his head, but doesn’t argue, letting himself be led into the hotel.  
The lobby is empty, everyone already gone upstairs. He murmurs goodnight to Luis and stumbles to his room. He gets ready for bed, crawling under the covers and allowing himself a few moments to think maybe before falling asleep.

Bucky wakes up and fumbles for his alarm, turning it off before climbing out of bed and stumbling to the shower.  
He washes quickly, getting dressed and running through his physio. His back aches, so he rummages around in his bag for painkillers. It’s going to be a long day, and spending it making pastry is not going to be kind to his shoulder either.   
He pulls on his shoes, grabs his keys and heads downstairs to breakfast.  
Bruce is already in the dining room chewing on wholemeal toast and looking agitated. Bucky pours himself a cup of coffee and grabs a bagel. He sits down with Bruce and watches him bite down savagely on his unfortunate bread.  
“Handle the pastry as little as possible,” Bucky says quietly. “Chill it for as long as you can get away with.”  
Bruce glances up at him and pauses in his chewing.  
“If it’s dry add egg yolk, never water. Milk in a pinch.” Bucky tears a chunk off his bagel and pops it in his mouth.  
“Thanks,” Bruce says quietly. His eyes flick up and Bucky shifts in his chair, seeing Alexander and T’Challa walk into the room. T’Challa pauses at the buffet table and gives Bucky a long, searching look. Bucky straightens up in his seat and swallows a mouthful of coffee. He gives Bruce a stern look. “You get stuck you give me a shout, y’hear?”  
Bruce nods, the corner of his mouth twitching in something like a smile.  
The room slowly fills with the other contestants, Wanda and Luis joining them at the table, both wearing terrible smiles aimed at Bucky. He doesn’t dare think about what they’ve been gossiping about.  
Steve arrives in time to grab a pastry, making a point at waving it at Bucky with a barely suppressed smile before taking a bite while they wait in the lobby for Maria to count them out and pack them into the waiting taxis.

Phil greets them at the manor house and leads them across the field to the Baking Marquee. He gives the usual run down of rules and dire threats before letting the contestants find their work stations. Bucky lets out a sigh of relief when he sees that his counter is next to Steve’s. They’re positioned in the middle of the Marquee, Wanda ahead of them, Luis behind Steve, not as close as he’d like, but in his line of sight at least.  
Bucky runs through a few exercises, loosening up his shoulder, mouthing reassurances to Steve when he gives a worried look. Steve still doesn’t look convinced, and will probably spend the rest of the weekend fretting over Bucky’s physical state.   
As much as he acts like it’s annoying, Steve’s concern lodges in Bucky’s chest, sweet and painful.

The hosts show up, taking time to walk around the Marquee and say hello to everyone while the camera crews get organised. They both taking extra time with Jane, who seems to be off kilter without Darcy and Thor around her. Her counter is next to Bruce, though, and he keeps a watchful eye on her while she sets up.   
The judges arrive, Nick is his usual leathers and Peggy in crimson lipstick and a vintage dress that emphasises her figure. Luis wolf whistles as she enters the tent and she winks at him. He makes a show of clutching his hands to his chest, pretending to faint.  
Phil orders everyone into position and the cameras start rolling, getting shots of the contestants at their benches before returning to the judges at the front of the tent.  
Clint welcomes everyone to the tent and announces to the camera that the weekend challenges will be pies and tarts. He rubs his hands together gleefully. Peggy informs them of the first challenge of the day; twenty four miniature tarts, twelve sweet and twelve savoury. Nick reminds them that he expects the pastry to be perfectly cooked and the tarts finished to a high standard. Natasha gives them a time limit and tells them to get on with it.

Bucky weighs out raisins into a small bowl and liberally douses them with dark rum before he gets started on his puff pastry, measuring flour and butter into a bowl and rubbing together to form breadcrumbs. He adds an egg yolk and brings the mixture together to form a dough, wrapping it up in clingfilm and writing a large ‘B’ on it in marker pen before putting it in the fridge.   
He washes his hands and weighs out the ingredients for his shortcrust pastry, adding tarragon and lemon for flavour. He adds a splash of milk and works it into a ball of dough, wrapping it in clingfilm, marking it and putting it in the fridge, taking out the puff pastry while he’s there.  
He takes butter and places it between two sheets of baking parchment, tapping it with a rolling pin until he has a flat sheet and setting it to one side.  
Bucky flours the counter and rolls out the pastry, checking he has the dimensions right before setting the sheet of butter in the middle and wrapping the dough around it. He seals the edges with the rolling pin, gives it a quarter turn and rolls it out again. He folds it, seals the edges with the rolling pin and wraps it up in clingfilm again before putting it back in the fridge for twenty minutes.  
Bucky washes his hands and takes a moment to do some stretches and rotator cuff exercises. He glances Steve, who is rolling and folding his own puff pastry. He looks up at Bucky and smiles briefly before getting back to work.   
He preheats the oven and gets a chopping board, slicing mushrooms and garlic and piling them onto a roasting tray. He adds seasoning and a drizzle of oil before putting into the oven and setting the timer.  
He fetches his shortcrust pastry from the fridge and rolls it out, cutting out circles and carefully lining his mini tart tins. A few give him trouble, the pastry breaking up as he works with it, so he does his best to patch them up, using milk to stick scraps of dough over the tears and hope that it doesn’t come out terrible. He arranges the tins on a large baking tray and takes it to the fridge, carefully sliding it onto an empty shelf and taking out his puff pastry.  
Bucky goes through another round of rolling and folding, rolling and folding, rolling and folding, wraps up the pastry and puts it back in the fridge. The timer goes off and he takes the mushrooms out of the oven, putting them to one side to cool.

Bucky's shoulder starts cramping, and he leans against the counter and gives it a massage. He can feel the concern drifting over from Steve and sees him watching, worry wrinkling his forehead.  
“I’m fine,” he says, loud enough for Steve to catch. Steve is about to argue when Jane swears loudly, pacing back and forth at her counter.  
Bucky checks that his counter is safe before walking over to where she’s moving in agitated little circles.  
“Hey, Jane,” he says gently. “What’s up?”  
She shakes her head. “My pastry’s gone.” She waves her hands around. “Gone!”  
Bucky checks the counter, but doesn’t see anything. “Where did you have it last?”  
“I put it in the fridge, and it’s gone.” She presses the heel of her hand to her forehead. “I don’t have time to make more.”  
Steve comes over to the counter, Wanda and Bruce close behind. Steve is the first to speak. “Well, it must be here somewhere.”  
Bucky watches with quiet surprise as Steve divides up the Marquee and gives everyone an area to search in, roping in Clint and Natasha to help out before making Jane sit down and drink a glass of water. Bucky is methodically going through all the cupboards around the room when Wanda shouts out. The missing pastry is on top of the fridge. Jane takes the plastic wrapped parcel and looks about ready to cry. The butter has softened from being out of the fridge too long, the pastry is ruined. Bucky offers her half of his puff pastry, but she refuses, knowing that the judges will mark her down for it. She puts the parcel in the freezer in the hopes of rescuing it with a quick chill, puts on a brave face and thanks everyone for their help, sending them back to work on their own bakes, some need asking more forcefully than others.

Bucky fetches his puff pastry and gives it a final roll out, cutting it to shape and fitting it in a large, square tin. He puts it in the fridge to chill, pulling out his shortcrust pastry tins and putting them in the oven. He scrapes his mushrooms into a blender, adds cream cheese and pulses it until he has a coarse pate, scraping it into a bowl and setting to one side.   
He fetches the puff pastry from the fridge and puts it in the oven, setting the timer for ten minutes while it blind bakes. He’s getting his ingredients together for the filling when Peggy and Nick approach his counter.  
“Hey, Peggs,” he says cheerfully, scraping cream cheese into a bowl.  
“Good morning. What are we having today?” Peggy smiles at him.  
“Mushroom and tarragon for savoury,” he flashes a grin at Peggy. “ _Plăcinta cu Branza_ for sweet.”  
Peggy brightens up and makes a decent attempt at the pronunciation.  
“ _Desăvârşit_ ” Bucky says proudly.  
“So what’s a… placenta?” Nick cuts in.  
Bucky tries not to laugh. “Plăcinta, it’s a sweet cheese and raisin tart.”  
“And is this Romanian?” Peggy asks, giving Nick a gentle nudge in the ribs.  
Bucky nods. “Not a childhood favourite, this has rum in it.”  
Peggys eyes sparkle. “Well then I look forward to it,” she says, dragging Nick away to the next contestant.  
The timer goes off and Bucky pulls the puff pastry out of the oven. He sets it to one side to cool down and finishes making his filling, adding sugar, egg and the rum soaked raisins to his cream cheese, along with a generous measure of extra rum. He scrapes the mix into the tin, spreading it out evenly to the edges, and puts it in the oven, setting the timer and taking a moment to catch his breath.

Bucky carefully removes the shortcrust tarts from their tins, easing them out with a palette knife and swearing under his breath. He checks the seasoning on the mushroom paté and tips it into a piping bag with a wide nozzle, filling each tart and carefully placing a tarragon leaf in the centre of each one. The timer goes off and he checks on the plăcinta. He’s happy that it’s cooked and takes it out of the oven, letting it cool a little before handling it.  
Bucky checks on Steve, who is spreading honey on his fig tarts with a paintbrush. Luis is hunched on the floor in front of his oven. Wanda is crumbling thyme leaves over her savoury bake. Jane is fussing over her salmon tarts, arranging watercress leaves artfully on the plate. She looks tired, but hasn’t given up.  
Bucky unclips the springform cake tin and eases his plăcinta loose. He takes a sharp knife and trims the edges before cutting it into twelve equal squares, arranging them on a display board and scattering them with icing sugar. He moves the mushroom tarts in around them and steps back to look at the display.   
His shoulder aches, a heated, low throbbing that’s getting harder to ignore.  
Natasha calls out the last five minutes and Bucky goes over to Steve’s counter to help him remove his caramelised shallot tarts from their little tins, prosthetic fingers gripping the hot metal easily while he levers the pastry crusts free.  
They’re finishing up the display when Clint calls time, telling them all to step away from their bakes.

Natasha tells them to put their bakes at the end of their counters and wait for the judges.  
Bucky helps Steve move his display into position and they take a step back to admire it, Bucky looping an arm around Steve’s waist and squeezing. Steve lets his head tip onto Bucky’s shoulder.   
“Looking good, Steve,” Bucky murmurs.  
Steve laughs and rubs his eyes. “Thanks.” He gives Bucky a concerned look. “How’s the shoulder?”  
“Sore, but I’ll live.”  
Steve watches him for a moment. “I’m pretty good at massage…” He says after a long pause.  
Bucky shakes his head. “It’s fine.”  
It’s not fine, there is a hot, low burning in his shoulder blade, a line of fire down his spine. But the thought of Steve touching his scars makes him feel nauseous.  
“I don’t mind,” Steve says quietly. His hand is pressed to Bucky’s bad shoulder, fingers splayed at the juncture where twisted flesh meets metal plates.  
“Well, I do,” Bucky counters, stiff but not unkind.   
Steve lets the subject drop, at least for now, keeping his fingers pressed lightly at the twisted seam of tissue, as if making a point.  
Luis wanders over to Steve’s counter, noting the way they’re stood, arms around each other, and gives Bucky a pointed look that he chooses to ignore.  
“How did it go, Luis?” Steve asks.  
“Smashed it, bro,” Luis responds cheerfully.  
“How’s Jane?” Bucky chips in. Luis and Jane’s counters are side by side.  
Luis grimaces and shakes his head. “She got everything done, but the pastry’s got no, y’know. Puff.”  
Steve sucks air between his teeth.   
“There’s two more challenges,” Bucky reassures him.  
Steve shakes his head. “It’s not like her to make that kind of mistake. She’s thorough.”  
They nod in silence. Bucky has an unpleasant feeling in his gut, the kind that used to precede explosions and gunfire.  
Phil interrupts, shooing them back to their counters so the camera crew can get some shots of the contestants with their bakes before the judging begins.

The judges approach Bucky’s counter first. He manages a smile for them while they try the mushroom tarts. Peggy likes the tarragon and lemon in the crust, Nick concedes that the pastry is well made, though he finds the filling a little dull. Peggy likes the look of the Plăcintas as well as the flavour, adding that she has always been rather partial to rum and raisin. After a moment's thought she adds that she could live without the raisins. Bucky chuckles, the woman is a menace. Nick tells him he’s made a decent puff pastry, but follows with a barbed comment about it being a shame that it’s buried under what’s basically a cheesecake. Typical.  
Bruce is next with ham, egg and asparagus savoury tarts, which are well received by Peggy, though Nick finds the finish too messy. Peggy informs him that they aren’t messy, they’re _informal_. Clint has no problem with the finish. The rhubarb and ginger tarts are more aesthetically pleasing, the rhubarb cut into 1cm lengths and stacked upright in each pastry case. Both judges are pleased with the results, to Bruce's obvious relief.  
Wanda follows with her delicate goats cheese and honey galettes, each one uniform despite being hand shaped. Neither judge can fault them, though Nick tries. She follows with strawberry tarts filled with white chocolate creme patisserie and drizzled with bitter chocolate. Nick calls them acceptable. Peggy adores them, as does Natasha, who steals one from the display and hides in the corner to eat it. Clint, in a rare attack of self-preservation, leaves her in peace.  
T’Challa comes next with _alevropita_ , Greek egg and feta tarts. Nick is impressed by his filo pastry, and Peggy admires the crisp finish. Clint sprays shards of pastry everywhere while he chews on a piece and tells T’Challa it needs bacon. T’Challa laughs and promises to change the recipe. He follows with cherry clafouti spiked with kirsch, that Peggy loves. Nick, unexpectedly, agrees that the liqueur works well in the dish.  
Jane comes after with her salmon and watercress tarts. The judges agree that the puff pastry hasn’t worked, Nick pulling no punches when he describes the results as greasy and flabby. Peggy pats Jane’s hand and tells her they look beautiful. Her bakewell tarts are more successful, though Nick finds the finish a little too ‘70’s for his liking. Peggy calls them ‘classic’, and leads Nick to the next contestant.  
Luis welcomes the judges with a broad grin and presents them with huevos rancheros tarts, the bases made with masa dough. Peggy finds them charming and a good recipe for a party. Nick actually cracks a smile when he tastes one, and admits a fondness for habaneros. Clint eats three. The custard tarts go down surprisingly well too, with their hidden layer of dulce de leche between the pastry and custard filling.  
Alexander is next with his roasted pepper and feta tarts. Nick finds them okay, but expects better for this point in the competition. Peggy tells him they are well made, but she would like to see a bit more creativity. He follows with chocolate hazelnut tarts, the pastry made with hazelnut flour. Bucky has to suppress a snort when he remembers Maria complaining about sourcing hazelnut flour. Peggy doesn’t like the tarts, finding them too rich and cloying. Nick describes the finish as bland, much to Alexander's displeasure. Natasha takes one bite and spits it back into her hand, giving Alexander a sour look.  
Steve is last with his caramelised shallot tatins. Peggy is pleased with his puff pastry. Nick thinks the results are too scruffy, though Peggy calls them ‘rustic’. Nick is quietly impressed with the fig and honey tarts, while Peggy is more vocal in her pleasure. Steve blushes furiously and stutters a thank you to them both, trying not to wince as Clint crams a whole shallot tatin in his mouth while Natasha curses him in Russian.

Phil makes his checks with the camera crew while the contestants cluster around each other's counters and try the different tarts. Wanda stakes a claim to the plăcinta, while Bucky would rather eat the huevos rancheros tarts than anything that could be offered to them for lunch. Steve is in quiet awe of Wanda’s bakes, though she insists his fig and honey tart is the best pastry she’s ever eaten.  
Bucky watches the two sharing baking tips while he picks at a fig and honey tart. There is a lump in his throat, heavy and warm, when he watches them laughing and realises that he would do anything for them. Love is not a word that comes easily to him, but it’s what he thinks when he sees the way Steve works his way around Wanda's defenses, how easily she makes her way past the barriers around Steve that he doesn’t even know are there.  
He is still reeling from the thought when Phil appears and takes Steve out to interview, sending the rest of them to lunch.

Wanda tucks herself against Buckys side as they walk down to the catering van, pulling his arm around her neck. He goes willingly, cupping his hand over her shoulder as they amble across the grass.  
“Ugh,” she mutters. “I ate too much already.”  
Bucky resists the urge to comment on how skinny she is, partly because her body is her own business, but mostly because she’d punch him in the throat.  
“At least eat some vegetables, păpuşă.” He says, and gets himself a jab in the ribs.  
They sit around the trestle tables, poking at their lunches. Bucky watches with amusement while Luis and Bruce get into a discussion about adding vinegar to pastry to restrict the gluten formation while Wanda steals the cherry tomatoes from his pasta.  
Steve joins them soon after, and Bruce gets a temporary reprieve from Luis’ opinions when Phil summons him for an interview.   
They sit around in silence, picking at their food and trying not to worry about the Technical Challenge. Bucky glances over at Alexander, who is quiet at the far end of the table, but so far unruffled. He can’t put his finger on why that bothers him, but it does.  
“Can’t be as bad as last week,” Luis says finally. “Can it?”

Phil sends them back to the Marquee and they take their places at their counters, quiet wishes of good luck being passed around as they separate.  
The hosts and judges take their positions at the front while Phil flaps at the camera crews.  
Clint introduces the Technical Challenge, explaining for the cameras that it’s a chance for the bakers to show off their technical know-how when given the most basic instructions.  
Peggy introduces the challenge; fruits of the forest strudel. Nick adds that he wants perfectly formed, tightly wrapped strudels with no cracks or leaks.   
Clint adds that the challenge is judged blind, and sends Nick and Peggy out of the tent before giving them their time limit and telling the contestants to get started.

Bucky looks over at Steve, who gives him a quick nod. He’s okay, he knows what he’s doing. Wanda is already weighing out flour, as is Luis. Bucky sucks air between his teeth and gets to work.  
He reads through the recipe before measuring out flour and mixing egg, melted butter and water in a separate bowl, adding to the flour a splash at a time until he has a soft, sticky dough. He starts kneading, painfully aware of the ache that's already started up in his spine. He flinches when he hears a loud, wet thwack and looks up to see Luis holding one end of his dough and whacking the other against the table. He switches the ends around and repeats the process, oblivious to the stares he’s getting. Bucky grins to himself as Wanda goes over to Luis’ counter to watch, and eventually join in. After a moment he hears Steve and Bruce try out the technique. He sticks to kneading the old fashioned way, rather than risk accidentally throwing his dough across the Marquee. He sniggers to himself, if there was a chance of it hitting Alexander, it wouldn’t be a total loss.  
When he’s happy that his dough is properly kneaded, he wraps it in cling film, marks it with a ‘B’ and puts it in the fridge for half an hour while he gets to work on the filling.  
The instructions leave a lot to be desired, so he looks over the fruits that have been placed on the counter. Apples, raspberries, blueberries and blackcurrants, all fruit that will break down to a wet pulp when baking, along with a jar of raisins. He peels and chops the apples and tips them into a bowl with all the currants, blackberries and raisins. He adds half the raspberries and starts to eat the rest, because fuck it.  
Natasha comes over with the camera crew and he holds out the punnett to her. She gives him a sly grin and takes a handful.  
“Hey, Barnes,” she says cheerfully, popping a raspberry between her teeth.  
“Hi Nat,” Bucky grins, measuring out spices into his bowl of fruit.  
“You made one of these before?” she asks as he gives the fruit a stir.  
“ _Ștrudel_?” He lays the accent on a little thick, “Yeah. Hate the damn things.”  
Natasha snorts at him. “No fond childhood memories?”  
Bucky waves a spoon at her. “The devil's pastry, Nat.”  
She grabs his last raspberry and goes looking for trouble elsewhere.

Bucky clears the counter and lays out a tablecloth over it. He scatters flour across the cloth before going to the fridge and collecting his pastry. He rolls the dough out as thin as he can with a rolling pin, pausing to rubs his shoulder more often than he’d like. He can feel Steve watching him anxiously every time he stops to dig his fingers awkwardly into the knotted tissue.   
He’s grateful, he really is. To have two working hands, even if one of them feels like a block of ice in the winter, and he’ll always have to keep in shape physically so his body can bear the strain of the prosthetic. He’s grateful, and the pain is a small price to pay.  
He rolls his shoulders and gets back to work.  
When he’s rolled the dough as thin as he can with the rolling pin he starts stretching the it with his hands, rolling up his sleeves and using the back of his flesh and bone hand under the dough to slowly draw it out. He touches it as little as possible with the prosthetic, the plates don’t fit seamlessly and he could easily catch the thin pastry on a metal edge and tear it. He’s so engrossed in the work that he doesn’t notice Clint come up to him until he says hello.  
Bucky manages not to flinch, but grunts in response.  
“One handed eh?” Clint says quietly.  
Bucky nods, using his forearm to gently stretch out the sheet of dough before holding up his prosthetic hand. “Well, this is great for taking trays outta the oven, but not so good with delicate stuff.”  
Clint stares at his hand for a moment and goes a gentle shade of cerise around the ears. “You ever tried… uh?” He makes a very specific gesture with his hand and Bucky has a brief, terrible coughing fit, turning away from his pastry just in time before straightening up and trying _so hard_ not to laugh.   
“Well,” he says, biting his cheek. “In the heat of the moment anything can happen.”  
Clint cracks first. He scrunches up his face and lets out a shrill, wheezing noise, bending over double with his hands on his knees.  
“Jesus Christ, Barnes!” He gasps, tears in his eyes.  
Bucky can’t help it and starts giggling, covering his mouth with his fingers. The sight of Clint red-faced and wheezing only makes things worse.   
Phil comes stalking over with some choice comments on professionalism and drags Clint to one side. Bucky takes a minute to get his breath back and looks over at Steve, who is studiously bent over his pastry like Bucky won’t notice how red his face is.  
Bucky shakes out his shoulders and gets back to work.

It’s no shock when Wanda is the first to start rolling her strudel. Bucky comes over to watch with Steve, silently grateful of the excuse to take a break as the pain in his spine and shoulder is starting to get serious, while she brushes the dough with melted butter and packs the fruit firmly in place at one end. Bucky holds his breath as she lifts her tablecloth and uses it to roll up her strudel, her movements quick and precise. She looks up her audience once she has it positioned on her baking tray and smiles, nervous and proud.  
“ _Dokonalý_ ,” he murmurs to her before going back to his own bake.  
Bucky isn’t happy with the thickness of his pastry, but is aware of time running out, so starts brushing it with melted butter. He stops to watch Steve roll up his strudel, slowly and carefully, and pats him on the small of his back when he’s finished. If Steve notices that Bucky keeps his movements limited, not wrapping an arm around his shoulders because his back is fucking _killing_ him, he doesn’t say, and gets to work brushing melted butter over his strudel.  
Bucky piles his fruit at one end of his pastry, pushing it into shape with the edge of his hand before he starts rolling. He works slowly, keeping the roll tight, gritting his teeth as his back spasms and his shoulder burns. Damp, chill sweat trickles down his spine, drips into his eyes. He blinks it away and keeps working. He has to take a break halfway through to take several deep breaths, and feels Steve pressing a hand to the nape of his neck.  
“Bucky,” Steve murmurs. “Bucky, stop.”  
He shakes his head. “Nearly done,” he whispers. His shoulder aches so much even breathing hurts, throbbing in time to his erratic pulse.  
Steve moves his fingers over knotted, tense muscle and swears under his breath before fetching a baking tray and lining it with parchment. Bucky doesn’t argue when Steve rolls the strudel onto the tray and tucks in the edges, or when he brushes it with butter and puts it in the oven. Wanda brings a stool over for him to sit down on and goes to make some tea.   
When he’s managed to catch his breath, Bucky glances up at Steve, hovering over him nervously.  
“Fine,” he mutters. “But hands on top of clothing.”  
Steve scowls at him. “Buck,” he says quietly.  
Damn it.  
“Okay,” Bucky grimaces. “I ain’t taking the shirt off.”  
He hears Natasha make a disappointed noise and can’t help but smile, especially when it’s followed by Clint’s wounded little ‘Hey!’.  
Steve takes the bottle of vegetable oil off Bucky’s counter and pours it onto his hand. He unties Bucky’s apron and slides a large, warm hand under his t-shirt and up his spine.  
Bucky has to bite back and embarrassing noise because, damn, the man is talented with his fingers. Steve applies firm pressure with the palm of his hand, using the pad of his thumb to work out the knots in Bucky’s spine. He splays his other hand across Bucky’s chest to hold him in place when Bucky wobbles on his stool and pushes hard between his shoulderblades. Bucky is grateful he’s sitting down because _that_ move would have made his knees buckle. Steve works quickly and thoroughly, his movements on the edge of painful as he drives the heel of his hand into Bucky’s shoulder, presses his thumb to the juncture where shoulder meets neck. Bucky flinches when Steve’s fingers brush against the knotted seam of scar tissue, and Steve quickly moves away again.  
Bucky lets his head tilt forward, letting out a small whine when Steve pulls his hand out from under his oil stained t-shirt. Steve presses his thumb to the nape of Bucky’s neck and he manages to swallow a whimper as he feels the rough pad move in firm little circles, dipping under the collar of his shirt.   
“Buck?” Steve says softly.  
“ _Eu te iubesc al naibii_ ,” Bucky mumbles at him.  
Steve chuckles at him. “I’m guessing that’s good?”  
“Mpf,” Bucky straightens up and blinks slowly. “I’m a dumbass.”  
Steve laughs, his hands still pressed to Bucky, solid and warm.  
“Really, I’m a dumbass. How many times did I say no to this?” Bucky shakes his head while Steve pulls his hands away.  
“Anytime,” he says softly.  
Bucky grins at him. “I will hold you to that.”

Bucky carefully sits on the floor in front of his oven, resting his back against the counter behind him and cradling the cup of coffee Wanda made him in his hands. The pain in his back and shoulders is still there, but at a low and tolerable ache. He tries not to feel guilty for letting Steve finish his strudel, reminding himself that he had been damn near insensible at that point. He waves off Phils nervous fluttering, reassuring him that the damage isn’t permanent and he doesn’t need to go to hospital.   
When he’s pretty sure his strudel is ready he starts to sit up, only to find Steve at his side. Bucky gratefully accepts the help up, even if it’s a little bit embarrassing to have everyone watch while he’s lifted to his feet. The strength in Steve’s back and arms would be a turn-on if he wasn’t so damn sore and tired.  
He leans against the counter, taking deep breaths and counting to five, while Steve pulls the strudel out of the oven. It hasn’t cracked or leaked, which is good.   
Steve slides it onto a platter and glances at Bucky. “Looks good,” he says softly.  
Bucky nods. “C’mere, give me a hug,” he says quietly.  
Steve smiles, going red around the ears and gives Bucky a gentle one armed hug.  
“Thanks,” Bucky mumbles, resting his head on Steve’s shoulder.  
Natasha clears her throat and points out that the time is up, so people need to step away from their bakes. And possibly each other.  
Bucky gives Steve a weak little shove. “Alright, show’s over,” he mutters.  
Steve takes a step back, still keeping within arms reach while Luis and Wanda come over to fret over Bucky. He reassures them while Phil and the rest of the crew set up the tables and stools at the front of the Marquee, setting the customary red check cloth over the tables and the photos of each contestant to mark where each bake goes.  
Bucky doesn’t argue when Luis insists on taking his strudel down to the table for him, or when Steve helps him onto his stool. Wanda and Steve sit either side of him, Wanda clutching his hands tightly in her fingers. When he tries to tell her he’s okay she hisses at him under her breath, so he keeps his mouth shut, rubbing his thumb across her wrists until her grip loosens.

After a short wait Nick and Peggy reenter the Marquee and the judging begins.  
Nick walks up and down the table, looking over each strudel carefully, noting the ones that have split or leaked. They get started on the first bake, Peggy nodding and telling the contestants how pleased she is with their efforts while Nick lists everything that’s gone wrong. They work their way down the table, slicing into each strudel and remarking on the pastry and filling. By the third, Steve’s, Clint decides that he’s had enough strudel to last him a lifetime. Peggy calls it an excellent example.   
When they reach Bucky’s they agree that the pastry is too thick, though the filling is good and the finished strudel hasn’t cracked. Nick calls the results ‘a real shame’ and Wanda digs her nails into Bucky’s palms.

The judges rank the strudels from worst to best. Bruce comes last, his strudel hasn’t been rolled tightly enough and has split in several places. Bucky is next, due to his pastry being too thick.  
“You had trouble finishing, didn’t you?” Nick says shrewdly.  
Bucky nods, but doesn’t comment, painfully aware of the camera focused on him.  
“You should have come in first for still completing the challenge,” Peggy says gently. “But we have to judge based on the bakes.”  
Bucky shakes his head and tells her not to worry even as she apologises.  
Luis comes in third, much to his delight. Wanda is second place, T’Challa is first. Bucky hugs Wanda as best as he can and whispers how proud he is.  
“Get better so I can kick you,” she mutters in response.  
Phil tries to get Bucky to do an interview, but he refuses. Before Phil can start to argue Luis grabs him by the shoulders and gleefully informs him that he has many opinions about how the day has gone. Bucky watches them walk away, Luis with one arm around Phil's shoulders, the other gesturing wildly, and briefly feels sorry for the man.

It’s a relief to get sent out to the taxis and back to the hotel. Bucky manages to get up to his room unaided, though with Steve hovering nervously behind him the whole way. When they reach his room he puts his foot down.  
“I’m fine.” Bucky gives him a gentle nudge. “Go eat, get some rest.”  
Steve frowns and bites his lip. “You sure you’ll be okay?”  
“Yeah, bath, painkillers, bed.” He gives Steve a tired smile. “Go on, get lost.”  
Steve hugs him goodnight, putting an arm around him carefully like he’s fragile, like he’s precious.  
“You know where I am.” He mutters.  
“Yeah, I’d come annoy you at 4am but you’d probably be out running a marathon.”  
Steve snorts and steps back, taking a few halting paces along the corridor before Bucky closes the door.   
Bucky takes a deep breath and walks to the bathroom, kicking off his shoes clumsily. He fills the bath with cold water, fetches his painkillers from his bag and swallows two dry before he gets undressed, his movements slow and stiff. He sets his watch on the side of the bath before climbing in, slowly sinking into the frigid water.  
He breathes out steadily, working on relaxing his muscles while he waits for the pills to kick in. He shivers, his teeth chattering as he counts the minutes. After twenty minutes he pulls out the plug and gets to his feet. The water wasn’t freezing, but enough to make him feel numb and clumsy. He turns on the shower, making sure the water is warm but not hot, and stands under the spray until the shivers subside. He turns up the heat and presses his forehead to the cool tiles, letting the water beat down on his back.  
 _I’m lucky to be alive_ he reminds himself, _even on the days when it doesn’t feel like it._  
He turns off the taps and pats himself dry, pulls on nightclothes and crawls into bed.  
It takes a while to get to sleep, shifting restlessly to find a comfortable position.

The alarm jolts him awake and he manages to sit up without too much pain. He rubs the sleep from his eyes and sighs. At least there hadn’t been any nightmares, just a few weird dreams. He drags himself out of bed and goes through his morning routine, managing to go through his physio before getting dressed and swallowing some more painkillers.  
He packs up his bag and pulls on his shoes, slipping out of the room and locking the door behind him before padding downstairs to drop off his bag and hand his key in reception.  
Wanda and Bruce are already at their usual table in the dining room, as well as Alexander and T’Challa in their corner. Wanda comes over to wrap her arms around his waist and complain about his health.  
“Păpuşă, I’m fine,” he soothes her while she grumbles and calls him a terrible liar.  
She insists on pouring him coffee, sending him to sit while she fetches him a pastry.  
He lets her fuss, giving Bruce an awkward smile.  
“Don’t fight it,” he mutters conspiratorially. “It’s worse when you fight it.”  
Bucky lets out a huff, and obediently eats the croissant she presents to him while the room fills up with the remaining contestants. Luis and Steve arrive last, both visibly relieved to see Bucky up and about.  
“You gonna be okay today, man?” Luis asks worriedly.  
“Yup. Gonna kick your ass,” Bucky grins at him over the dregs of his coffee.  
Luis cackles. “Ooooh, that how it is?”  
They’re still heckling each other when Maria sends them out to the taxis for another day of baking.

The cross the grass to the Baking Marquee, Steve pulling back and shoving his hands in his pockets, keeping his eyes cast down. Bucky sighs to himself and waits for him to spit whatever's bothering him out, waiting patiently as Steve bites his lip and kicks at the grass.  
“When’s your next check up?” He asks quietly.  
“Not for another week, but I’ll call tomorrow, see if I can get it moved forward.”   
Steve nods, still keeping his eyes to the ground. “Does it get this bad a lot?”  
“No,” Bucky watches Steve wince. “The competition is a strain on it. The weekend is tough enough, but the practicing in the week…” He trails off.  
Steve is quiet for a long time.  
“Are you quitting?” Steve asks, his voice so low it’s barely audible.  
Bucky shakes his head. “Nah. Here ‘till I get kicked out.” He jerks his head towards the tent. “C’mon, let's go make some pie.”

Phil fusses around the cameras crews while they set up, before taking contestants out for one to one interviews. Bucky waves to Steve, who gives him a helpless look as he’s led outside and then says hello to Clint and Natasha when they arrive. Natasha hovers by his counter for a few minutes, giving him a mildly unsettling stare.  
“I’m fine, Nat,” he tells her softly.  
She makes an unconvinced noise, and after a moment of hesitation walks off.  
The judges arrive and Phil gets everyone into position.  
Natasha introduces the Showstopper Challenge, explaining that it is an opportunity for the bakers to show off their talents and produce something visually spectacular as well as delicious. Peggy announces the challenge itself, a fruit pie.  
The cameras pan around the room for reaction shots before Peggy gives them their time limit and wishes them luck.

Bucky weighs out flour, sugar, baking powder and polenta into a bowl, giving it a quick mix before adding butter and rubbing together to form breadcrumbs. He adds egg and olive oil, bringing the mix together to form a smooth dough. He wraps it in cling film, marks it with a ‘B’ and puts it in the fridge to chill before getting the ingredients together for his almond shortbread.   
He measures out flour, sugar and ground almonds, rubbing in butter and adding a little egg yolk to make a soft dough. He wraps it in cling film, marks it and puts it in the fridge with his polenta dough.  
Bucky wipes down the counter and prepares his plums, cutting them in half and removing the stones before setting them to one side. He preheats the oven and fetches his shortbread dough, giving it a quick knead before rolling it out thinly and using star shaped cookie cutters in different sizes to stamp out biscuits. He arranges the biscuits on a baking sheet, putting them into the oven and setting the timer.   
A quick check around the Marquee assures him that everyone else is getting on fine with their bakes. Steve is peeling apples and dusting them in cinnamon and icing sugar. Luis is rolling out his shortcrust pastry and whistling to himself. Wanda is trying to work a little plastic contraption for stamping out pastry shapes.  
He pulls the biscuits out of the oven and transfers them to a cooling rack, dropping the tray in the sink before greasing a springform cake tin. He fetches the polenta dough from the fridge, removing a third and wrapping it back up in the cling film to go back in the fridge.   
He’s starting to line the tin when Nick and Peggy arrive.

Nick grabs a piece of polenta dough, pressing it between his fingers. “Unusual,” he says finally. Bucky smirks at him, breaking a chunk of dough off the lump on the counter and pressing it into the greased tin with his prosthetic hand.  
“Yeah, polenta dough is pretty soft. You can’t roll it out like regular shortcrust.” He grabs another pinch and presses it in place. “The trick is to get the thickness right, too much around the edge and it’s like eating concrete. No enough on the bottom and it turns to mush.”  
Nick picks up a plum half and squeezes it. “Dangerous choice, plums? High moisture content.”  
Bucky flashes him a grin. “Romania is the second largest producer of plums in the world, after America. Most of it get used to make _țuică_.”  
“Suika?” Peggy asks.  
“Țuică,” Bucky repeats slowly for her. “Plum brandy.” He gives Peggy a wink and she grins at him.  
They leave him in peace to finish lining his tin. His shoulder throbs, a low, steady pulse. Not enough to slow him down but enough to remind him to take things steady.  
He sprinkles polenta and sugar on the base and arranges the plums cut side down. He fetches the last third of dough from the fridge and crumbles it into a bowl, adding a handful of oats. He sprinkles the mix evenly over the plums, following with a scattering of demerara sugar and putting it in the oven.  
He washes his hands, sets the timer for forty five minutes and goes to make some coffee.

Steve is sat on the floor in front of his oven, staring through the tinted glass at his apple pie when Bucky sits down next to him and hands over a mug.  
“Thanks,” he murmurs, leaning close enough to rest his head on Bucky’s shoulder. “This hurt?”  
Bucky shakes his head. “No, it’s good.”  
He resists the urge to wrap his arm around Steve, to push his fingers into his blond hair. Instead he rests his cheek against Steve’s brow and cradles his cup in his hands. Steve closes his eyes and lets out a deep, weary sigh.  
They sit in comfortable silence, drinking their coffees, pressed together from shoulder to hip, until the peace is broken by Jane letting out a shriek.  
Bucky is on his feet before he even realises, moving between the counters to where Jane is stood, clutching her face in her hands.  
Bucky gently takes hold of her wrists and eases her hands down, frowning at the red marks her fingernails have left in her cheeks.  
“Okay, it’s okay,” he soothes, aware of Bruce and Steve coming up behind him.  
“It’s burnt,” she whimpers.  
Steve goes over to her oven, the door is open, heat blasting out. Her Derby pie is blackened on the top. Steve picks up a tea towel and brings it out of the oven, setting it on the counter, the acrid scent of burnt nuts filling the air.  
“It’s only been in twenty minutes, how can it be burnt?” Jane whispers.   
Bruce brings a stool over and they sit her down. Steve checks the base of the pie, it’s been blind baked already, so is cooked. The filling and edges are beyond saving. At a loss, he checks the ovens settings.  
“This is on grill,” he says quietly.  
Jane looks horrified. “I checked,” she whispers. “Before I went to the fridge. I checked.”  
Bucky speaks softly to her, telling her that it’s okay, keeping one hand lightly pressed to her arm until he breathing evens out.  
“Okay, how do we fix this?” Bucky asks her.  
Jane rubs her eyes. “Scrape out the filling,” she says finally. “Trim the edges.”  
“Okay, good. We’ll do that.”  
Steve resets the oven and starts carefully scooping out the filling into a bowl before trimming the burnt edges off the crust, while Bruce chases up ingredients.   
Bucky keeps close to Jane's side while she mixes up a new batch of filling, keeping her talking, keeping her focused, until she has the pie back in the oven.   
He leaves her with Bruce, drinking chamomile tea and fretting, while he finishes up his own pie.   
He takes the tin out of the oven, setting it to one side for ten minutes before removing the pie, then transfers it carefully onto a stand and arranges the almond biscuit stars on top. He glances over at Steve, who is prodding at his apple rosettes like they aren’t perfect and Wanda, whose pie is finished and in position on her counter while she sits on the floor with Jane, staring at her still baking pie with one eye on the clock.  
When Natasha calls out that there are five minutes remaining he goes over to join them, using his prosthetic hand to remove the pie from its case as quickly as possible and get it on the display stand. Even then they barely make it in time, Natasha repeatedly telling him to step away from the bake while he pointedly ignores her.  
She waits until he’s finished before she grabs him by the back of his shirt and walks him back to his counter.

The camera crew get shots of each baker with their finished product while Phil gets everything ready at the front of the tent. Everyone is called into position and the judging begins.

Luis is called to the front first with his _pastafrola_ , an Argentinian quince paste filled pie. Peggy loves the flavour and the latticework finish. Nick sniffs and questions whether it’s impressive enough to be called a showstopper.  
Jane is next with her Derby pie. Peggy commends her for completing the challenge and the quality of the pastry base. Nick finds the filling of dried fruit, chocolate and nuts too sweet. Clint crams a whole slice into his mouth and suggests that Nick might not be the best person for a fruit pie challenge. Nick scowls at him and brushes damp pastry crumbs off his jacket.   
Jane manages to laugh when Clint refuses to hand back the pie. “No,” he tells her. “This is mine now.”  
Bucky is called to the front next with his plum crumble pie. Peggy likes the finish, and makes a pleased noise when Nick cuts it open to reveal that the pastry is evenly baked. Nick hums to himself as he tries the filling, making no comment while Natasha picks the almond shortbread stars off the top and nibbles them.   
“Pretty good, Barnes,” she murmurs when he takes his bake back to his counter.  
Steve follows with his apple pie. Peggy loves the finish, hand cut pastry leaves with rosettes made of thinly sliced apples tucked between them. Nick likes the filling, the apples firm but properly cooked and the spicing well balanced.   
Alexander is next with and Italian _crostata_ filled with pastry cream and apricots with a latticework pastry top. The judges agree that although it’s well made, it lacks a ‘wow factor’. Alexander makes no comment, but scowls when he turns away from them.  
Wanda follows with her French _bourdaloue_ , a French pear and almond pie with a frangipane filling. Both Peggy and Nick like the finish of toasted almonds and twisted pastry strands. Peggy comments on how refined her flavours are, while Wanda ducks her head and mutters awkwardly.  
Bruce is next with an apple and pear pie. Peggy likes the flavours, though Nick finds the finish too sloppy. “Rustic,’ Peggy insists. Clint, having recuperated from eating most of the Derby pie, eats a slice and declares it ‘slamming’, though none of the contestants are entirely sure what he means.  
T’Challa is last with an apple and quince pie with a gruyere cheese crust. Nick laughs to himself when he tries it, and finishes the whole slice. Peggy just shrugs and cuts a second piece to share with Natasha, telling T’Challa that it’s perfect and he should be proud.

The judges retire to argue over the weekends challenges while the contestants wander around each other's counters to eat pie and fret over the comments they received.   
Bucky has every intention of parking himself in front of Steve’s apple pie with a fork and not moving until a taxi drives into the middle of the Marquee to take him home, but Phil appears at his side with a scowl and a camera crew. He leaves Steve and Wanda tearing pieces of crust off his plum crumble pie and follows Phil outside.   
Phil positions him in front of a stand of trees, moving him around until he’s happy with the framing. Bucky lets himself be moved. The sooner he’s done, the sooner he can eat.

_Bucky absently massages his shoulder through his t-shirt.  
“Tough week,” he says quietly. “Pastry and kneading are rough on this,” he taps his prosthetic shoulder. It makes a dull ringing sound. “Hurts like f… A lot.”  
“My physiotherapist hates me for this.” He grins at the camera. “But it’s worth it. Wouldn’t wanna be anywhere else.”_

Bucky joins the rest of the contestants at the catering van, joing the queue for bland curry and overcooked rice. Bucky lets out a soft groan when he sits in his chair at the trestle table.   
“You alright, Buck?” Steve murmurs next to him.  
“This place is gonna kill me.” Bucky mutters, jabbing at his lunch with a fork. “If not the challenges then the food.”  
“Amen, bro,” mutters Luis from across the table.   
Steve chuckles and carefully places a folded napkin next to Bucky’s plate. It falls open to reveal a large slice of apple pie.  
Bucky drops his fork with a clatter. “I fucking love you, c’mere,” he growls, grabbing Steve by the shoulders and giving him a loud, wet kiss on the cheek. Luis lets out a wolf whistle that drowns out Steve’s yelp.  
“Get off,” Steve giggles.  
Bucky shakes him. “Never!” Steve wraps a hand loosely around his arm. “You fucking angel,” Bucky mutters, pressing his face to Steve's neck. “Pie and backrubs all in one package.”  
Steve blushes and pats his elbow. “Here I was thinking you just liked me for my looks.”  
“That too,” Bucky mumbles into his shirt. After a moment's pause he tilts his head. “Did I say thank you?”  
“Yeah. Eat your damn pie.”

Phil calls them back to the Marquee for the results. They walk back along the grass and file into the tent while the camera crew films them, and sit at the stools arranged in a line in front of the judges.  
Bucky ends up between Steve and Wanda, neither of them convinced that he can manage something so complicated as sitting on a stool.  
Clint and Natasha congratulate the group on a tough weekend, and inform them that Nick and Peggy have decided who has done the best over the weekend and will be named Star Baker, as well as who has done worst, and will be sent home.  
Peggy tells them that it was the easiest decision they had come to so far, and it was high time a consistently excellent baker who looks out for those around them won. Wanda squeezes Buckys fingers and lets out a little squeak, and Bucky nearly misses being announced as Star Baker. Steve wraps both arms around his shoulders, hugging tightly. Bucky manages to remember he’s on camera before blurting out something inappropriate.  
Nick announces the contestant leaving is Jane.  
Clint and Natasha reach Jane first, sandwiching her between them. It takes Bucky a moment to realise they’re keeping her face hidden from the cameras. He drags Steve and Wanda, who are still holding onto him, into the scrum and they each hug her while she dries her tears.

Phil checks that the cameras have everything they need before handing out the challenges for next weekend, along with the usual reminders of rules and deadlines for recipe submissions. Steve gets his sheet first and swears under his breath.   
“You okay Steve?” Bucky mutters, taking his handout from Phil.   
Then he sees what the challenge is. Sweet dough. Oh, he is _fucked_.  
Bucky shakes his head, though the thought of another weekend of breadmaking isn’t the only thing bothering him. He wraps an arm around Steve’s waist and starts following the rest of the contestants down to the manor house where Maria is waiting for them. He waits for the others to get further ahead before he speaks.  
“Jane’s an astrophysicist,” Bucky mutters. “You think she can’t work an oven?”  
Steve shakes his head, his mouth a grim line. “Yeah, I thought that.”  
“Any ideas?” Bucky glances around, but there’s no one nearby.  
Steve shakes his head. “Could be a contestant, could be the producers trying to shake things up.”  
“It’s not Nat or Clint, that's for sure,” Bucky frowns. “Nick is an asshole, but not that kind of asshole.”  
Neither of them mention Peggy. The word treason comes to Bucky’s mind when he tries to even think about it.  
“Okay,” Bucky says finally. “Eyes open. Yeah?”  
Steve nods, and they walk the rest of the way to where Maria is waiting. She hands them consent forms and itineraries, and passes over their luggage and phones along with the usual warnings about spoilers and social media.   
They say their goodbyes, Bucky giving Steve a hug that lasts longer than is strictly decent.  
“Thanks,” he mutters in Steve’s ear. “I’d have been screwed without you there.”  
Maria tells them to break it up, and they get into their waiting taxis.   
Bucky turns on his phone and reads through his messages, sending replies to Dugan and Jones that he’s still in the competition.  
He sits back in his seat and sighs. More fucking dough.   
Fuck.

\-----------

Plum Crumble Pie

Crust  
115g plain flour  
115g wholemeal flour  
150g sugar  
115g polenta  
1 tsp baking powder  
150g butter  
1 egg  
15ml olive oil  
25g rolled oats  
1 tbs demerara sugar

Filling  
450g plums  
1 tbs polenta  
1tbs sugar

Preheat the oven to 180°C/350°F/G4.  
Mix together the flours, sugar, polenta and baking powder in a large bowl. Rub in the butter with your fingertips until it resembles fine breadcrumbs. Stir in the egg and olive oil, adding a little cold water if necessary to form a smooth dough.  
Grease a 23cm springform cake tin. Divide the dough into three. Wrap one third in clingfilm and chill in the fridge. Press the remaining two thirds of the dough evenly over the base and up the sides of the tin. Sprinkle the tablespoon of polenta and sugar over the pastry base.  
Cut the plums in half and remove the stones. Place cut side down over the pastry base.  
Remove the remaining dough from the fridge and crumble into a bowl. Add the oats and mix well before sprinkling over the plums. Scatter the demerara sugar on top.  
Bake for 50 minutes or until golden and crisp. Leave for 15 minutes to set before removing from the tin.  
Serve with custard, cream or ice cream.


	6. Sweet Dough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Serious, though,” Luis stops poking and gives Bucky a shrewd look. “He loves you, man. Maybe not the way you want, but-” Luis shrugs. “You won’t know until you ask.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Krycek-asks, I'm so sorry :(
> 
> Dragă - honey  
> hlupák - dumbass  
> desăvârşit - perfect

Bucky watches the taxi slowly make its way down the drive before picking up his bag and walking up to the entrance. He finds Maria in the lobby scowling at her mobile phone.  
“Hey, Maria,” he says quietly.  
She glances up at him. “Barnes,” she doesn't hiss at him or throw any furniture, so he guesses her day is going well.  
He follows her to the reception desk, pulling his phone out of his pocket and turning it off. He hands it over in exchange for a room key, watching her make a note on her clipboard.  
“Any changes to your… Is that even a word?” She holds the clipboard up to him, where his submitted recipes are printed next to his name. He reads out the word next to her tapping fingernail.   
“ _Sfințișori_ ,” he reads out. “Yeah, that’s a real thing.”  
She gives him a dubious look and he grins at her. “At least the ingredients are easy.”  
She rolls her eyes at him. “ _Mahlab_ ,” she utters scornfully.  
“Huh?”  
“Some kind of cherry stone.” She waves a hand, “Had to get some from Yotam Ottolenghi.”  
Bucky frowns. “The guy that needs thirty types of rare twig to make a sandwich?”  
Maria flashes a small, sharp smile at him. “I will fucking kill him.”  
Bucky coughs out a laugh and retreats slowly, making sure to keep her in his line of sight until he reaches the stairs.  
He quickly finds his room, wrestles his key in the lock and manages to get inside. He pushes the door closed behind him, kicks off his shoes and drops his bag on the floor before he climbs onto the bed, dragging the pillow over his face and falling asleep.

He’s woken by a soft tapping on the door and grumbles softly, his voice muffled by the pillow. There’s a soft click of the door opening, the scuffed tread of boots on carpet and the catch of the door closing before the mattress dips down near his hip.  
Bucky grumbles when the pillow is pulled away, blinking in the light.  
“Hey, Buck,” Steve murmurs.  
Bucky rubs the sleep from his eyes. “Hey, Stevie.”  
Steve rests a hand lightly on his hip, thumb tracing along the seam of Bucky’s jeans.   
Bucky sighs and pulls the pillow under his head. He’d managed to move his appointment at the Stark clinic forward a week, though it meant coming straight to the hotel from there. The last two days had been routine maintenance and assessment. Dull, painful and time consuming ECG readings, scans, physio and engineers poking about in his prosthetic while sucking air between their teeth. Plus the show was now airing, which meant being bombarded by questions. Was Nick Fury really like that, or was it just for show? Is there something going on between Clint and Natasha? What happens to the leftover cake? _That’s_ Steve? Really? (Yes, he’s an asshole. Don’t know, not asking. We eat it. Yes. _Really_.)  
Right now all he wants to do is sleep for a week.   
“How’s the arm?” Steve murmurs.  
Bucky lifts his prosthetic hand up and wriggles the fingers. “Still here.” He glances at Steve. “The technicians told me to bring you next time.” Bucky grins. “You got something of a fan club.”  
Steve ducks his head, the tips of his ears turning pink. Bucky pats the back of the hand resting on his hip with prosthetic fingers.  
Steve clears his throat and changes the subject. “How’s your back?”   
“Got steroid injections, painkillers.” Bucky sighs. “More physio.”  
Steve’s fingers twitch, a worried frown creasing his forehead. “You want to stay in? Get some rest?”  
Bucky shakes his head. “Nah. It’ll be good to see everyone.” He closes his eyes, presses his metal fingers to Steve’s wrist. “How long ‘til dinner?”  
Steve checks his watch. “Couple of hours.”  
“You staying?”  
Steve smiles at him, soft and sweet. “Yeah.”  
Bucky shuffles along the bed, making room. “C’mon, tell me about your sweet dough.”  
Steve kicks off his boots and puts his feet up on the bed, sitting up against the headboard.   
Bucky dozes off to the sound of his voice, curled up on top of the covers. 

“Buck? C’mon, wake up.”  
Bucky grumbles and opens his eyes, for a moment he could swear he feels fingers smoothing down his hair, but when he glances around Steve is pulling on his boots.  
“I’m gonna go dump my bag in my room, then we’ll head down, yeah?” Steve mutters, not meeting Bucky’s eyes.  
Bucky sits up, scratching the back of his neck.  
“Buck?” Steve says again, a little louder.  
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m up.” He waves a hand at Steve. “Go do things.”  
Steve grins at him. “I thought the army taught you to always be on the alert.”  
Bucky snorts at him. “Fuck off,” he snips, though there’s no malice in his tone.  
Steve chuckles and picks up his bag before slipping out the door.  
Bucky gets to his feet and stumbles to the bathroom, washing his face and changing into a clean t-shirt. By the time he’s lacing up his trainers, Steve has appeared in the doorway.  
“You good to go?” Steve asks.  
Bucky nods, pulls the door closed and locks it. “C’mon then,” he says, putting the keys in his pocket and giving Steve a gentle shove.  
They jostle each other as they walk down the stairs to the lobby, gentle nudges and pushes as Bucky tries to make Steve see that he’s okay, that he’s tired but not beaten.  
Wanda comes over to wrap her arms around Bucky’s waist and grumble at him a little. He rubs her back, muttering soothing words under his breath. Luis joins them shortly after, full of news about the Patisserie he’s opening with Scott and excitement about the weekend challenges.

Maria herds them out the doors and down to the nearby restaurant. The table they’re seated at is smaller. Bucky sits down at one end, looking around at the six other contestants. It wasn’t that long ago that it was a dozen of them, all crammed around two tables pushed together.  
He calls to Luis, sat opposite, “How are the others?”  
“Doin’ great, man,” Luis says cheerfully. “Darcy’s got a couple of exams left, but they’re going good. Thor and Jane are still together.”  
“Yeah?” Steve asks, an odd, almost hopeful look on his face.  
Luis claps his hands together. “Yeah, real good. They’re talking about going on vacation together, see the Northern Lights or something.”  
Conversation moves on to the Patisserie getting planning permission at last, and becomes a lengthy discussion about brioche which Bucky mostly zones out of. Brioche is nice an’ all, but how you can discuss it for an hour is beyond him.  
After the dinner plates are cleared away they walk back to the hotel in their little groups of twos and threes, Steve keeping close to Bucky’s side as he yawns and stumbles.   
Bucky leans on Steve’s shoulder and lets himself be guided up the stairs and to his room, mumbling goodnight when Steve leaves him to go to his own room.  
He gets ready for bed, crawling under the covers. The pillow still has a faint trace of Steve’s aftershave on it, and he’s too tired to care that he presses it to his face and inhales deeply before falling asleep.

Bucky wakes to his alarm, taking a few moments to get his bearings before before grabbing a quick shower and getting dressed. He chickens out of wearing a short sleeved t-shirt at the last minute, dragging a grey long sleeved shirt on and telling the disappointed voice in the back of his head that sounds way too much like Steve to kindly fuck off. He’ll end up rolling up his sleeves to knead bread and forget to pull them down again anyway, so doesn’t need another lecture on body positivity.  
He pulls on his shoes and heads out into the hallway, locking the door behind him, before jogging downstairs to the dining room.  
Bruce and Wanda are already up and eating breakfast. At least Bruce is. Bucky pours himself coffee and slides a bagel onto a plate along with an almond croissant, taking them over to the table and dropping the plate in front of Wanda as he sits down.  
“Pick one or I’ll make you eat them both,” he mutters.  
Wanda kisses him on the cheek and take the almond croissant.   
“How’s the arm?” Bruce asks, looking worried.  
After last week, everyone seems to have figured out that the prosthetic is a strain on him. Bucky tries not to be annoyed by the concern, damn near passing out during a challenge was bound to get him attention. He looks over at Wanda, who is pulling the flaked almonds off her pastry and eating them one by one.  
“Good. Not going to catch fire or electrocute me or anything.” He reaches over and tugs on Wanda's sleeve. “Don’t you go worrying.”  
Wanda flicks a piece of almond at him, but gives him a watery little smile.  
“ _Dragă_ ,” Bucky says softly. Wanda sniffs and calls him a hlupák under her breath.  
The room fills with contestants. Luis comes yawning over to their table, clutching a cup of coffee to his chest and sinking into the empty seat next to Bucky.   
Steve hasn’t shown up for breakfast by the time the taxis arrive to take them to the Baking Marquee, so Bucky stops by the buffet table to wrap a couple of pastries in a napkin for him. Luis follows him, watching the other contestants filter out into the lobby.  
“You talked to Steve yet?” Luis asks, watching as Bucky carefully wraps up some pain au chocolat.  
“I talk to Steve all the time,” Bucky responds.  
Luis rolls his eyes. “C’mon, man,” he says quietly.  
Bucky sighs and shakes his head. “He knows that I’m… well. He knows. And he hasn’t said anything, so…” Bucky shrugs.  
“Yeah, but that don’t mean nothin’!” Luis gives him a friendly shove. “Maybe he’s not said anything ‘cause he’s nervous. Maybe he doesn’t want to presume you’re into the whole Greek God thing.”  
Bucky lets out a derisive snort. “Seriously?”  
Luis grins at him. “Maybe he’s waiting for you to get kicked out so he can tap this fine ass,” Luis points to himself, fingers angled down low.   
Bucky laughs, pulling away as Luis pokes him.   
“Serious, though,” Luis stops poking and gives Bucky a shrewd look. “He loves you, man. Maybe not the way you want, but-” Luis shrugs. “You won’t know until you ask.”

Phil greets them as they climb out of the taxis and leads the way down to the Baking Marquee, Steve brushing pastry crumbs off his t-shirt .   
They separate and quickly find their counters. Bucky at the back of the tent with Steve in front of him and Bruce to the side. Bucky wonders if the producers got panicked by the previous weekends incident and decided to surround him with people who will know what to do if he suddenly keels over.   
The hosts arrive, and take a moment to walk around the tent and check in with everyone. Clint still can’t look at his prosthetic without laughing, and Natasha hauls him away while he wipes his eyes and wheezes apologetically.   
The judges arrive a short while later, Nick in his usual black leather and Peggy in a figure hugging black number that makes Luis yowl like a tomcat. Phil moves everyone into position and the cameras start rolling.  
Clint welcomes everyone to the tent and announces that the weekends challenges will be sweet dough. Natasha follows with the first challenge of the day, twelve sweet rolls. Nick clarifies that the dough must be plaited or twisted for a decorative finish before he gives them a time limit, and Peggy wishes them all the best of luck.

Bucky warms milk in a small pan, pours it into a bowl and checks the temperature. When he’s happy that it’s not too hot he crumbles fresh yeast into it, adds honey and sets it to one side to activate. He weighs flour and sugar into a large bowl and adds the zest of a lemon. When bubbles start forming in the milk he pours it into the flour along with a little melted butter and eggs. He mixes it into a soft dough, tipping it out onto the counter and kneading it until smooth. He tips the dough into a clean bowl and puts it in the proving drawer for its first rise. He sets his timer before he glances up to see how Steve is doing and his heart stutters at the sight. Steve has one hand holding his dough in place, the palm of the other hand pushed into the centre and stretching it out before rolling back and repeating. His shoulders roll with each movement, spine twisting and curving. His triceps bunch and strain against his tight grey t-shirt as he moves. Bucky can make out the line of his shoulder blades when he leans forward and maybe, possibly, lets out a slight whine at the sight.   
Natasha snaps her fingers under his nose and he lets out a sharp yelp.  
“Eyes on the prize, sergeant,” She says with a smirk.  
He frowns at her. “That’s what I was doing.”  
She flashes him a terrible grin and wanders away.  
Bucky glowers after her and goes to make some coffee.

Bucky takes coffee and green tea down to Luis and Wanda, who are at the other end of the Marquee, before making his way over to Steve and setting a mug down on his counter.   
“You okay?” Steve asks quietly, keeping an eye out for cameras.  
Bucky leans against the counter and resists the urge to give him a shove. “I’m fine. Quit worrying.”  
Steve curls his hands around his coffee and shuffles closer to Bucky, nudging their hips together. Bucky takes the hint and slips an arm around his waist, quietly asking how his week has gone. Steve lets out an exasperated sound and starts describing a commission from hell, with a client who keeps changing his mind every five minutes and expecting additional work to be done for free. Bucky listens sympathetically until Steve runs out of steam and sags against him, chin resting on Bucky's shoulder.  
“You want me to kick his ass?” Bucky asks with a smile.  
Steve snorts and shakes his head. “Probably bad for business.”  
Bucky’s timer goes off, so he gives Steve a last reassuring squeeze before going back to his dough.   
Bucky sets out a couple of baking trays and flours the counter. He tips out his dough, giving it a quick knead before dividing it into twelve equal pieces. Usually he’d do it by eye, but he imagines Nick takes a dim view of such things, so weighs out the dough and divides it by twelve, cutting chunks and throwing them onto the scales, pinching off pieces until they’re the correct weight.  
He kneads the first piece and rolls it out into a long, thin rope, folding it in half and twisting it firmly. He joins the ends together to form a loop, gives it a final twist to make a figure of eight shape and lays in on a baking tray.   
One down, eleven to go.  
He keeps his head down, working quickly and doing his best not to strain his shoulder. Steve clears his throat loudly and Bucky looks up in time to see Nick and Peggy approaching his counter.

“How are we today?” Peggy asks brightly, concern creasing the corners of her eyes.  
“All the better for seeing you,” Bucky winks at her and she scolds him gently.  
“What are you making,” Nick interrupts.  
Bucky flashes him a grin, refusing to be put off by his scowl. “Sfințișori.”  
Peggy attempts the pronunciation, carefully repeating the ‘ț’ until she gets it right.  
“ _Desăvârşit_ ,” Bucky says proudly.  
“So these are Romanian?” Nick butts in.  
Bucky nods at him. “Moldovan martyrs. They’re traditionally made for the Forty Martyrs of Sebaste, who froze to death on a pond, or something.” Bucky shrugs. “What that has to do with pastries is beyond me.”  
Nick picks up a piece of dough and Bucky swats at him with his prosthetic. He flinches, dropping the bread and ignoring Peggy's chuckles.  
“I look forward to tasting them,” Peggy laughs, dragging Nick to the next table.  
Bucky listens with half an ear as Steve talks to the judges about cinnamon rolls, rolling and twisting his dough and smiling to himself.   
When they’re finished he covers the trays and puts them in the proving drawer, setting his timer for twenty minutes and washing his hands. He walks down to the other end of the Marquee to check on Wanda, who points him towards Luis and gets back to candying hazelnuts. Bucky props himself up against Luis’ counter and listens to him talk about patisserie for a while until Steve joins them. Bucky never fails to be amazed at how the two of them can spend so much time talking about French pastry.

His timer goes off and he leaves the pair to their discussion about chouquette, returning to his counter and pulling his trays out of the proving drawer. He brushes them with egg before putting them in the oven, checking that the setting and temperature is right before setting the timer for twenty minutes and getting started on his syrup.   
Bucky zests an orange into a pan, cutting it in half before squeezing out the juice. He catches a cameraman out the corner of his eye filming him using his prosthetic hand to squeeze the juice out, and tries not to let it bother him. He adds water and sugar to the pan, setting it on a low heat and giving his hands a quick wash.  
He toasts walnuts in a dry pan, leaving them to cool for a few minutes before blitzing them in a food processor and setting them to one side.   
He checks on his syrup and turns off the heat, adding a splash of Grand Marnier and putting it to one side. He still has a few minutes before the rolls need to come out of the oven, so he cleans down his counter and scrubs sugar syrup off his prosthetic.  
He checks his bakes and brings them out of the oven, prodding them carefully until he’s happy they’re cooked through. He drizzles the orange syrup over them and leaves them to soak for a minute while he warms up some honey.  
Natasha calls out that there are ten minutes to go, and Bucky curses under his breath, quickly brushing the bakes with honey and topping them with crushed walnuts. He arranges them on a display board, scattering a few more crushed nuts and stepping back when Clint calls time.  
He looks around the room, at the other contestants looking tired but pleased, and breathes out. Steve flashes him a smile, soft and proud and Bucky’s heart thumps painfully in his throat.   
Bucky crooks a finger at him. “C’mere you,” he murmurs. Steve flushes pink but comes over to his counter, hunched over like he could pass for smaller if he tried hard enough, and lets Bucky pull him into a hug, tucking his face into Bucky’s neck.  
Phil calls everyone back to their counters so they camera crew can film them with their bakes. Steve makes a disappointed noise in the back of his throat when Bucky gives him a firm push back to his counter, but sits patiently on his stool and doesn’t pull faces at the camera when they film him. Bucky rests his elbows on the counter, chin resting on his prosthetic hand, when they film him. 

Wanda is the first contestant to be approached by the judges. Her display of Finnish _korvapuusti_. Peggy loves the subtle use of cardamom. Nick declares them well proved and struggles to find fault with them.   
Steve is next with his cinnamon rolls. Peggy remarks how much she likes that he’s not overdone the icing, keeping it to a fine drizzle of lemon scented glaze over the buttery rolls. Nick nods his head and tells him well done. Clint makes an impressive display of eating one, and tells Steve… something about them. It’s a bit garbled, but he’s smiling so Steve thanks him regardless.  
T’Challa follows with his _franzbrõtchen_ , a thinly rolled and folded German pastry filled with raisins. Peggy calls them ‘exquisite’. Nick hums under his breath and calls them ‘good’, which is the Nick Fury equivalent of breathless adoration.  
Bruce is next with his poppyseed rolls. Nick calls them clumsily made and ugly. Peggy describes them as rustic and homemade. Nick finds the filling too bitter, though Peggy says she likes the texture.  
Luis follows with his pan dulce, the rolls cut to resemble conch shells. Peggy loves the crispy sugar topping. Nick sniffs and calls them a good bake but a little plain. Clint suggests filling them with bacon. From the way Luis’ face lights up at the suggestion, he probably agrees.  
Alexander comes next with sourdough cinnamon rolls. Peggy likes the flavours, and is impressed by the complex knotting technique to make the finished rolls. Nick questions the use of sourdough, much to Alexander's displeasure.  
Bucky is last with his sfințișori. Peggy loves the finish, as well as the liqueur enriched syrup. Nick calls them ‘pretty good’. Natasha doesn’t say a word, but refuses to share her piece with Clint, glaring at him while she sucks syrup from her fingers.

Phil checks that the camera crew caught everything they need while the contestants cluster around each others' counters to try the different bakes. Bucky takes a sfințișori to Wanda and manages to trade it for a korvapuusti, which he splits with Steve.   
They huddle together at Steve’s counter and quietly agree that, no matter how hard they try, they will never be as good at bread as she is. Bucky takes comfort in his knack with pastry, even if the metal hand is an unfair advantage.  
“She’s a witch,” Steve mutters absently, chewing on a piece of sfințișori.  
“A bread witch,” Bucky agrees, pulling the sticky centre out of a cinnamon roll. He glances over at Steve, at the honey glaze on his lower lip, and bites the inside of his cheek until he tastes copper. Damnit.  
Phil sends the contestants out to lunch, and they walk across the grass to the catering van.

Bucky sits down at the trestle table with his lukewarm risotto, shuffling over when Steve sits next to him.   
“You holding up okay?” Steve asks softly, glancing at his prosthetic.  
“Yeah, I’m good,” Bucky reassures him. “You?”  
Steve nods but doesn’t say anything further. Bucky ruffles his short. blond hair, making Steve yelp and slap his hand away.  
“Quit getting so stuck in your own head,” Bucky laughs. “You’re doing great.”  
Steve grimaces and pokes at his rice. “If you say so.”  
Bucky bumps their shoulders together and Steve doesn’t pull away. The warmth and pressure is a comfort, and Bucky finds himself leaning into it. He pushes away his food, folding his arms across his chest and letting himself doze for a while, half listening to the conversations buzzing around him. 

Phil summons them back to the Marquee, and Bucky grouses quietly as Steve chivvies him to his feet, wrapping an arm around his waist as they walk back to the tent.  
They part ways, moving to their separate counters while Phil gets the cameras in position.  
Natasha introduces the Technical Challenge, describing for the audience watching how it’s a chance for the bakers to display their technical skills when faced with only basic instructions.  
Nick announces the challenge; ten jam filled doughnuts. He adds that it’s his own recipe the contestants will be using. A groan echoes around the room, Nick’s recipes are not exactly user-friendly at the best of times.  
Clint reminds everyone that the challenge is judged blind before sending Nick and Peggy out of the tent, Peggy wishing them all good luck as she leaves. They are given a time limit, and told to get started.

Bucky looks over at Steve, who gives him a firm nod before turning to his ingredients list. Bucky reads through his instructions, which are about as basic as it gets; make dough, make jam. He snorts to himself, thanks for that, Nick.  
Bucky weighs out his ingredients into a large bowl. The mixture is wet and sticky, and a pain in the balls to handle, but slowly forms into a soft, workable dough. Bucky checks on Steve, who has resorted to mixing with a palette knife, spreading the dough out across the counter and scraping it back up again. He idly thinks that he could watch Steve make bread all day long, although the permanent hard-on would probably require some explaining. Bucky shakes his head and gets back to work.  
He scrapes the dough into a bowl and puts it in the proving drawer, sets his timer for one hour, wipes down the counter and does his best to scrub all the sticky residue off his prosthetic.  
With an hour to fill, Bucky starts on the strawberry jam filling, removing the hulls and chopping the fruit before weighing and tossing them into a saucepan. He adds an equal amount of sugar and the juice of a lemon, setting the pan on a low heat and giving it a quick stir with a wooden spoon.  
Natasha comes over to his counter looking for strawberries, so Bucky pushes the half empty punnet across the counter to her. She pulls the tray closer and picks one out, pausing to watch a cameraman wander past.  
“You got any moving anecdotes about making jam?” Natasha asks derisively.  
“Nah,” Bucky gives the strawberries a stir. “Can’t fucking stand it.”  
Natasha laughs. “Seriously?”  
“Well, yeah.” Bucky turns the heat up on the stove. “Waste of good fruit.”   
“What are you supposed to do with all the stuff you can’t eat fast enough?”  
Bucky checks the back of his spoon for sugar crystals and grins. “Ferment it?"  
“Good point,” Natasha cackles before wandering off to terrorise someone else.

Once the jam is set Bucky scrapes it into a bowl and puts it to one side. He still has some time before his dough is done proving so he walks down to the other end of the Marquee to check on Luis, and listens to him chatter about buñuelos for a while before heading back to his own dough.  
He flours the counter and knocks back the dough, tipping it out and giving it a quick knead before dividing it into ten equal pieces. He shapes each piece into round and places them on a greased baking tray, sliding it back into the proving drawer. He sets the timer for forty minutes and wipes down the counter before going to make coffee.  
Bruce is already in front of the kettle, tugging absently at his hair while he waits for it to boil.  
“You okay, Bruce?” Bucky asks softly.  
Bruce gives him a weak smile. “I don't handle stress well.”  
“Anything I can help with?” Bucky watches as Bruce twists a curl of greying hair around his fingers. “Meditation, breathing, that sort of thing?”  
Bruce huffs and shakes his head. “I just… didn’t expect to last this long,” he says finally. “Thought I’d be out in the first round.”  
Yeah,” Bucky smiles at him, gentle and concerned. “You an’ me both.”  
Bucky lets Bruce make his own chamomile tea, understanding how too much helpful can be worse than not enough of it, before making green tea for Wanda and sending Bruce to deliver it.  
He makes coffee, taking a mug over to Luis before joining Steve. They lean on the counter in comfortable silence until Luis comes over. Silence and Luis don’t coexist, but it’s still as comfortable watching Steve and Luis discuss choux pastry, even when Alexander comes skulking past. Bucky keeps half an eye on him, but he doesn’t hang around.  
Luis helps them set up their electric fryers before going back to cook his doughnuts, pointing out the thermometer and the light that comes on when the oil is up to temperature. 

Bucky sprinkles sugar on a plate and gets his doughnuts out from the proving drawer. He checks the light and drops in the first couple of doughnuts, using his prosthetic hand because in all honesty, he’s only got one hand left and would rather not accidentally deep fry the damn thing. After a few minutes he flips a doughnut over with a slotted spoon. It’s pale gold, so he flips it back over and gives it another minute before turning them again.   
Bucky checks on Steve, who is lifting his first batch of doughnuts out of the fryer and tossing them in sugar. Bucky watches him at work, focused and at ease with himself. It makes something painful lodge in his throat. He swallows it down and flips his doughnuts, checking that they’re evenly coloured before scooping them out and tossing them in sugar. He adds some more dough to the fryer, poking a hole in each of his cooked doughnut while he waits and keeping half an eye on Bruce, who is muddling his way through his second batch.  
Luis swears softly, but emphatically, as Bucky scoops his third batch of doughnuts out of the fryer. Bucky drops them into the plate of sugar and hurries over to Luis’ counter, wiping his hands on his apron.  
“You okay, Luis?”   
Luis shakes his head, poking a spoon at the doughnuts bobbing about in his fryer. “They’re taking too long.”  
Bucky comes closer, looking at the straw-coloured doughnuts. “This your first batch?”  
Bucky checks that the light on the fryer is on, even though he knows Luis isn’t that stupid. The only thing he can think of is that the fryer is faulty, so he dips a prosthetic finger into the oil. Luis lets out a yelp and grabs for his hand.  
“It’s alright, it’s the metal one,” Bucky holds up the prosthetic. “See?”  
“What the fuck are you doing, man?” Luis yells.  
“It’s got a temperature gage. Your oil’s too cold.” Bucky picks up his tray of dough. “C’mon, you can use mine.”  
Luis grabs his plate of sugar and follows Bucky back to his counter, watching him move his cooked doughnuts to one side.  
“Steve, you nearly finished?” he calls out.  
Steve nods, quickly catching on to what's happening.  
“Okay, Luis. Use this one, okay?” Bucky says. Luis doesn’t argue and starts dropping pieces of dough into the fryer.  
Phil comes over to find out what’s going on, Bucky quickly explaining that there was a malfunctioning fryer on Luis’ counter. Phil makes flustered noises for a moment before going to check it out.  
“Buck,” Steve calls. “I’m done with the fryer.”  
Bucky picks up his tray of dough, dashing over and dropping pieces of dough into the fryer while Steve clears space around him and puts a plate of sugar next to him. Steve lets out a hiss when Bucky uses his prosthetic to flip his doughnuts and pointedly hands him a slotted spoon.   
“Quit showing off,” he murmurs.

They work fast, side by side, moving easily in each others space. When Luis finishes frying his doughnuts and rushes back to his counter to fill them, it doesn’t occur to Bucky to move back to his own space. He pokes hollows in the centre of his doughnuts while Steve fills his own with a piping bag, pausing to reach over to the counter behind them to fetch Bucky’s jam and placing it on the counter between them. Bucky murmurs a thank you under his breath while Steve bites his lip and keeps his head ducked down.  
Natasha calls out the last five minutes, and they arrange their doughnuts on plates, trying to keep any jam from escaping.  
Clint calls time and Bucky wraps an arm around Steve’s waist, squeezing gently. Steve throws both his arms around Bucky’s shoulders and clings onto him, neither letting go until Luis grabs them both in a bear hug.  
“You fucking lifesaver, man,” Luis grits into Bucky’s shoulder, burrowing in between them, Bucky starts laughing when Luis puts a hand to Steve’s chest and shoves him away, positioning himself firmly in Bucky’s arms.  
Steve chuckles and pats Luis on the back.  
“Kinda need to breathe, Luis.” Bucky mutters eventually. Luis ignores him and doesn’t let go until Natasha tells everyone to get their bakes on the judging table down the front.

They take their plates of doughnuts down to the table set up at the front of the Marquee, placing them behind the photos set in a neat row, facing away from the judges.   
Phil pulls Luis to one side, and Bucky follows knowing that Steve will be close behind.  
Phil clears his throat, looking uncomfortable. “The fryer’s fine.”  
Luis scowls at him. “What?”  
“There’s nothing wrong with the fryer. It was set to 85°C. I tested it myself.”  
Luis shakes his head. “I set it to 180.”  
Phil looks uncomfortable. “The fryer is in perfect working order.”  
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Luis points to himself. “Do I look like a guy who doesn’t know about fried foods?”  
Phil shakes his head, then looks briefly panicked and starts stammering until Steve talks over him. “Did you leave it unattended at all?”  
Luis nods. “Yeah, came over to you guys while it was heating up. Came back, the little light was on. Boom.”  
Phil shifts restlessly. “You must have made a mistake.”  
“I did not,” Luis growls.  
Bucky lays a hand on Luis’ shoulder. “Can we do the challenge again?” he asks.  
Phil shakes his head. “We’re on a tight schedule,” he says reluctantly.  
Luis swears under his breath. “I musta fucked up. Shit.”  
Bucky hugs him from behind. “It’s alright,” he murmurs, patting Luis on the chest.  
“Well, the rest of ‘em turned out good,” Luis sighs and lets himself be led to the row of stools with the other contestants. Wanda reaches out to him as he sits down, curling her fingers around his hand. Bucky sits the other side of Luis, one hand pressed to his back. Steve grips onto Bucky’s other hand, fingers clamped around his wrist. 

Nick and Peggy enter the Marquee and the judging begins.  
Nick paces up and down the table, looking over each plate of doughnuts carefully, remarking on their colour and size. They try a doughnut from each contestant, cutting them open to see if they’re cooked through and filled with enough jam. Peggy finds something positive to say about each one, though Nick is quick to point out their faults. Not enough jam, overcooked, undercooked, underproved. It all just becomes noise after a while. Clint is about as happy as Bucky has ever seen him, with a doughnut in each hand and two in his mouth, getting sugar everywhere. 

The judges rate the doughnuts from worst to best. Luis comes last, seven of his doughnuts being perfect, but the first three being oily and overcooked. Bruce is next, his doughnuts underproved and needing more jam filling. Bucky comes in third, which surprises him a little. Wanda comes in second, her bakes perfect but Nick wanted more jam in them. She doesn’t scowl at him for a change, she’s too busy grinning at Steve, who is in first place.   
Luis whoops and reaches over Bucky to smack Steve on the chest, making a show of shaking his hand out and calling him ‘ripped’, which makes Steve turn bright red. Bucky tugs Steve into his arms and whispers into his ear, soft little words he doesn’t want the camera to pick up, how proud he is, how it should have come a lot sooner.   
Steve clings to Bucky’s arms, face pressed to his shoulder while the other contestants gather around them. Bucky carefully pulls him loose and points him to the group.  
“Go on,” he murmurs, and watches the people gather around Steve, patting him on the back and telling him well done, and Bucky feels so damned proud of him as Luis throws his arms around them both without a shred of resentment.   
Phil corners Bucky for an interview, and he can’t think of a reason to refuse, so follows him out onto the lawn. He lets himself be moved into position, hands in his pockets, standing up straighter when Phil tells him not to slouch.

_Bucky rubs his chin with his prosthetic hand.  
“Am I going to win?” he laughs. “No! Course not.”  
He shakes his head, looking down at the grass at his feet. “I didn’t come here lookin’ to win. Didn’t expect to get this far either. Just wanted to be… part of something, I guess.”  
He glances up at the camera, cocking his head at a question asked.  
“Who do I think should win?” He ponders, though doesn’t take long to think about it. “Wanda. she’s really gifted. I hope this is the start of something for her. T’Challa is really good too. Has a real knack for flavours.”   
Bucky taps his finger against his lips. “Steve, I’d say. He’s the sweetest guy. Pain in the ass, too.” Bucky grins to himself. “But I like that about him.”_

Bucky walks back to the Marquee to find everyone still hanging around eating doughnuts and talking over the challenge. Steve notices him first, waving him over to their group and handing over a doughnut he’d set aside.  
“This yours?” Bucky asks, biting into it. Of course it’s Steve’s, crispy on the outside, light and fluffy inside and full of rich, fruity jam.  
“You’re making me seriously reconsider my policy on jam,” Bucky mutters, licking sugar off his lips.  
“Reduce the sugar by ten percent,” Steve mutters, his cheeks tinged with pink.  
Bucky lets out a contented little sigh and slumps against Steve’s shoulder.  
They wait around until Phil has finished his interviews for the afternoon, then it’s back to the hotel for the evening.

Luis and Wanda both decide on a nap before dinner, and Bruce declares that he needs to clear his head and go for a walk, so Steve follows Bucky back to his room, chewing on his lip and frowning. Bucky hustles him to one of the ugly chintz armchairs and makes them both tea.  
“So,” he says, handing over the cup. “Sabotage?”  
Steve nods grimly, cradling the cup in his hands. Bucky feels a moment of relief that he doesn’t need to argue Luis’ capabilities, that Steve doesn’t even entertain the possibility that he fucked up.  
“Producers?” Bucky considers. “It’s one way of getting ratings.”  
Steve taps his fingertips against the rim of his cup. “Or a contestant.”  
The thought sits uneasily in Bucky’s stomach. It’s one thing to walk into enemy territory. When it’s someone hidden in a crowd of friends… Bucky shudders.  
“Whole thing gives me the creeps,” he grumbles. “It’s just a fucking baking show.”  
Steve smiles at him, tired and filled with affection. “Yeah,” he sighs.  
They head down to the dining room for dinner with the others, the mood quiet but good humoured as Luis and Wanda get talking about cronuts. Bucky yawns and says goodnight, waving at Steve to stay put, and shambles up the stairs to his room. He gets ready for bed, stifling a jaw cracking yawn as he curls up under the duvet and falls asleep.

The nightmare wakes him before the alarm does, and for a moment he sits, disorientated, in the darkness. It comes back to him, piece by piece, as he lists the things he can see, the things he can hear, until it’s carpet under his feet instead of damp sand. A blanket twisted in his hands instead of a rifle. He breathes, deep and slow, and remembers himself.  
When he’s pretty sure he can stand, he inches his way over to the bathroom and takes a shower, the press of hot water grounding, washing away the sweat and the memories. He towels himself dry, pulls on clean clothes, and packs up his bag. He goes through his physio, checks that he’s not left anything behind, and pulls on his shoes.  
He locks the door and pads quietly down the stairs, leaving his bag and keys in the lobby before going to the dining room to get breakfast.

Bruce is already up, looking pale and tired. Bucky fetches coffee and toast before joining him.  
“How are you holding up?” Bucky asks, scratching the hard little pat of butter across his toast.  
Bruce shudders and shakes his head. “I need to up my medication.” He glances up at Bucky, looking horrified. “I mean-”  
“It’s fine,” Bucky waves a hand dismissively. “I got PTSD and an artificial neural network, I’m not gonna judge.”   
Bruce gives him an awkward little smile and pokes at his bowl of cereal. “Baking used to be a form of stress relief,” he comments. “Now I spend most of my time getting anxiety over baking.”  
Bucky snorts and bites into his toast, chewing quietly and watching Bruce fuss over his meal.  
“It won’t last,” he says quietly. “Couple of weeks, this’ll all be over.”  
The room slowly fills with the other contestants and conversation turns to the day's challenge. Steve arrives last and has just enough time to grab a bagel before Maria yells at them to get moving. 

Phil meets them at the estate and leads the way across the grass to the Baking Marquee.   
Steve gets dragged outside for an interview while the camera crews set up for the day. Bucky loiters around Luis’ counter for a while until he gets a tea towel flicked at him and instructions to stop looming, so he skulks back to his own counter and waits for Steve to return.   
Clint and Natasha arrive and circle the room, saying hello to everyone. Clint gives Bucky a lewd wink as he walks past, which sets Steve off giggling. Bucky flicks coconut flakes at him until Phil hisses at him to behave.  
The judges arrive and take their places at the front of the tent, and the day's challenge begins.  
Clint introduces the Showstopper Challenge, describing for the cameras how the challenge is an opportunity for the bakers to display their skills to produce something visually impressive and delicious. Peggy announces the challenge itself; a celebration wreath made with sweet dough.   
The cameras pan around the room, getting shots of the contestants stood at their counters, before Natasha tells them to get on with it.

Bucky gets started on his dough, melting butter in a small pan and weighing out flour, sugar and dried yeast into a bowl. He adds egg and coconut milk, slowly stirring in the melted butter until it’s incorporated. He scatters flour onto the counter and tips the dough out, kneading it for several minutes until he has a soft, smooth dough.   
He glances up at Steve, who is lifting his kneaded dough into a bowl, and feels a little twist of guilty disappointment that he missed the sight of Steve working his dough. He shakes it off, putting his dough into a clean bowl and sliding it into the proving drawer before cleaning down the counter.   
He heads over to the kettle and makes chamomile tea for Bruce and green tea for Wanda, setting the mugs at the edge of their counters before making coffee, stopping by T’Challa and Alexander's counters to offer a drink, even though Alexander always refuses and T’Challa seems to exist on bottled water.   
Bucky takes Luis his coffee, surreptitiously checking that his sugar hasn’t been spiked with salt and his oven is still working while Luis watches with open amusement. When he’s satisfied that nothing untoward is going on, Bucky goes to bother Steve instead.  
“You done marking your territory?” Steve teases.  
Bucky glares at him, making a point of sprawling against his counter. Steve snorts and takes a sip of coffee.   
They talk quietly while Steve makes his sticky toffee filling, simmering dates in a small pan of water infused with a muslin bag full of cinnamon and ginger slices. Bucky listens to Steve grumbling about his clients as he picks out the spices and adds butter and sugar to the pan, stirring until the sugar is dissolved. Not for the first time, it hits Bucky that he’s happy. Not content, or at peace, but happy.   
“What are you grinning at?” Steve asks, suddenly aware of how long he’s been talking for.  
Bucky shakes his head. He doesn’t even know how to put it into words. “Nothing,” he says.

After an hour of proving Bucky takes his dough out and gives it a quick knead before rolling it out into an approximate rectangle. He spreads the dough with softened butter, scattering it with vanilla sugar and dessicated coconut before tightly rolling up into a thick sausage. He curls the dough around and shapes it into a ring, sealing and smoothing the edge. He carefully transfers it to a baking sheet and cuts the ring into thick slices, leaving the center intact and fanning out the rounds. He wraps it up and puts it back in the proving drawer for a final rise.  
Bucky cleans down his counter and washes his hands, looking up when Steve clears his throat to see Nick and Peggy approaching.  
“Hey guys,” he says cheerfully.  
“Good morning,” Peggy greets him with a warm smile. “What are you making today?”  
“A coconut ring,” Bucky takes the dough out of the proving drawer to show them, snatching it away from Nicks grasping hand.  
“So, this is a coconut filling rolled up in dough?” Peggy looks closely at the bake but doesn’t touch it.  
“Yeah.” Bucky puts the bread back in the drawer. “When I first got my medical discharge I was living in this sh… This flat in Chinatown.” Bucky does his best not to fidget. “I wasn’t sleeping so great, and keeping odd hours. But there was always a bakery open.” He brushes his hands across the counter. “Really liked the coconut rolls.”  
“They sound delicious,” Peggy smiles.

Bucky gives the coconut ring a brush with egg wash and a sprinkling of coconut flakes before putting in the oven. He sets his timer and wipes down his counter, and is debating making more coffee when Steve comes over with a mug in each hand.  
“Thanks,” he says, reaching out.   
Steve pulls away with a grin. “No. These are both for me.”  
“Little shit, give me coffee!” Bucky yells after him. Steve laughs and hands over one of the mugs.  
They sit on the floor in front of Steve's oven, watching his wreath bake while he frets over the sugar burning and Bucky repeatedly reassures him that it’s fine. Bucky lets his head rest on Steve’s shoulder for a while, ignoring the camera pointing in their direction. The Luis pointed in their direction is harder to ignore.  
Steve finally calls time on his bake and gets up, pulling his bread out of the oven. It looks beautiful, the ruffled finish from carefully cutting and twisting the rolled dough browned and crisp around the edges. Bucky leaves him to his finish and goes back to his own oven.  
The coconut ring comes out better than he could have hoped for, golden and fluffy. He finishes with lime zest to cut through the richness and transfers it to a wooden board.   
Natasha calls out the last few minutes remaining, so he checks on Luis, who is adding the finishing touches to his _pan de muerto_.  
Clint calls time, ordering everyone away from their bakes, and Bucky heads back to his counter, giving Steve a sly nudge as he walks past. Steve swipes at him with a teatowel and calls him a jerk.  
The camera crew take shots of each contestant with their bake while the judging table is set up at the front of the Marquee. Phil calls everyone into position and the final round of judging for the weekend begins.

Alexander is called up to the judges first with his _tsoureki_ , a Greek Easter bread decorated with red dyed boiled eggs. Nick enquires about the use of mahlab and it takes Bucky a moment to remember where he’s heard the word before, then thinks of Maria the previous day. Bucky tries not to laugh, but if Alexander is ever found stabbed to death with a sprig of lemon myrtle he’ll have a pretty good idea of what happened.  
Nick calls it a good bake, though Peggy finds the flavours a little bland. It’s oddly shocking to hear Peggy not liking something.   
Bucky is called up next, and carefully places his coconut ring in front of the judges. Peggy tells him it’s delicious and looks very inviting. Nick concedes that it’s well baked. Natasha eats the center of one of the pieces, giving the crusty outer edge to Clint. They agree that it’s pretty good too.  
Bruce comes after with a plaited wreath stuffed with nuts and spices. Peggy likes the flavour, and thinks it would make a very festive centerpiece. Nick finds it underproved. Natasha picks all the macadamia nuts off the surface and eats them in one go. Clint is quietly impressed.  
Wanda follows with a _vánočka_ , a Sokovian Christmas bread flavoured with rum and almonds. Peggy loves the finish, three progressively smaller plaits stacked on top of each other, washed with egg and scattered with flaked almonds. Nick finds the alcohol too overpowering. No one agrees with him.  
T’Challa is the next contestant with an Armenian _gata_ , a sweet bread filled with ground walnuts and decorated with fine twists of dough in intricate scrollwork. Peggy is impressed with the decoration and the filling, though Nick finds it too dry.   
Luis follows with his pan de muerto. Peggy likes the flavours of aniseed and orange, as well as the decorative finish. Nick is less comfortable eating bread with anatomically accurate depictions of phalanges all over it. Clint makes a point of eating all the fingertips, which Luis thinks is hilarious.  
Steve is last with his sticky toffee wreath. Peggy loves the finish, calling it simple and elegant while Steve shuffles from foot to foot and tries not to blush. Nick admits a liking for sticky toffee pudding and calls it a pretty decent adaptation. Natasha tells him that he did good. Clint is too busy stuffing his face to make any comments. 

The judges leave the tent to discuss the weekend's challenges while the contestants gather around each others' counters to try the different breads. Wanda takes one bite out of Steve’s bread and demands the recipe from him. Luis and Steve fight over the crusty edges of Bucky’s coconut ring, scattering buttery coconut flakes over the counter.  
Phil sends them off to lunch, muttering about clean up, and they amble across the grass to the catering van.   
They sit around the table picking at their lunch, too full of bread to eat, though there's not much that can put a dent in Luis’ appetite.  
“Well, I’m glad that’s over,” Bucky says finally.   
Steve leans into him and Bucky takes the hint, wrapping an arm loosely around his waist.   
“Fuck knows what it’ll be next week,” Bucky sighs.  
Steve shudders. “As long as it’s not more substitutions.”  
There is a loud mumble of agreement around the table.  
“Some patisserie would be pretty fucking cool,” Luis adds, giving Steve a grin. Bucky screws up his face, shaking his head.  
“Chocolate,” Wanda says emphatically.  
“Pudding,” Bruce adds.  
There is a lengthy silence, broken by Phil calling them back to the Marquee.

The contestants walk down to the row of stools lined up in front of the judges and sit, down, fidgeting and restless. Luis tucks himself between Bucky and Wanda, Steve on Bucky’s other side. Luis has no qualms with holding hands, so it feels natural for Bucky to tangle his fingers with Steve, who grips them tightly in both hands like he doesn’t care that he’s holding metal and wiring rather than flesh and bone.  
Natasha and Clint congratulate the group on their efforts and inform the cameras that Nick and Peggy have have decided on the best and worst bakers of the weekend. The best declared Star Baker, the worst sent home.  
Nick casually informs them that the winner is Steve.  
He lets out an odd, choked little sound as Bucky squeezes his fingers and grins. Steve stares at him, mouthing ‘really?’ and Bucky wants to kiss him so badly in that moment.  
Peggy follows with the announcement that the contestant going home is Luis, her mouth twisted in distress. Luis jumps down from his stool, pulling away from Bucky and Wanda and charges over to Peggy, wrapping his arms around her while she lets out a startled little laugh. Clint and Natasha gather around the pair, half to hug them and half to shield them from the cameras. Steve keeps a tight grip on Bucky’s hand, still trying to process everything happening while people clap him on the back and congratulate him. When Peggy comes over Bucky twists out of Steve’s grip and leaves him to blush and fluster while Peggy makes a fuss of him.

Bucky manages to snag Luis and get caught in a bear hug, for once not going limp and riding it out but hugging back.  
“You shouldn’t be going,” Bucky mutters.  
“Nah, man,” Luis crushes him a little more. “I met some kickass guys. Ate so much cake. Got a fucking _business partner_. I’m good.”  
Phil hands Bucky a copy of next week's challenges, giving Luis an apologetic look.  
“C’mon, let’s see what you got?” Luis snatches the paper out of Bucky’s hands. “Chocolate?” he hands the sheet back. “You’ll smash it.”  
Bucky looks over the challenges, nodding at the others as they start making their way out of the Marquee.   
“You gotta do something for me, Buck?” Luis says, suddenly serious.  
“What?” Bucky folds up the sheet and shoves it in his pocket.  
“Go talk to him.” Luis looks over at Steve, waiting for them by the doorway.  
“Luis,” Bucky sighs.  
“I’m serious.”   
Bucky glances over at Steve again, reading through his challenges sheet.  
“Okay,” he says finally.  
Luis pats him on the arm. “Fucking love you, man.”  
Bucky watches Luis walk up to Steve and give him a hug before heading outside.  
He takes a deep breath. Now or never.

Steve looks up at Bucky with a broad smile.  
“Hey, Star Baker,” Bucky says softly. Steve rubs his eyes, shaking his head.  
Bucky glances around, making sure there’s no one watching them, before gesturing to a secluded area behind the Marquee.  
“You got a minute?”  
“Sure.” Steve nods, following him.  
Bucky chews his lip as they come to a stop, hidden out of sight behind the folds of white canvas. Steve’s brow furrows in concern at Bucky’s worried expression.   
“What’s up?”   
Bucky lets out a breath. “If I did something really stupid, would you forgive me?”  
Steve huffs a soft laugh, the worry falling from his features. “Sure, thing,” he says.  
“I’m serious,” Bucky growls. “Would you be okay?”  
Steve reaches forward and tugs Bucky’s sleeve. “C’mon, Buck.”  
It’s invitation enough and Bucky leans forward, tilting his head up a little and pressing his lips to the corner of Steve’s mouth. He holds for a moment, no more than a heartbeat, before pulling away.  
Steve doesn’t react, frozen in place, eyes wide.  
“Steve?” Bucky says softly.   
_Damnit_.  
Bucky shakes his head. “It’s okay, forget it happened,” he whispers, taking a step back.  
Steve makes an abortive move forward, reaching out and catching Bucky's t-shirt, twisting the fabric in his fingers.   
Bucky wraps his hand loosely over the white knuckles. “Hey, it’s okay,” he murmurs.  
Steve lets out a soft sound in the back of his throat and jerks forward, pressing their lips together, muffling the surprised sound Bucky makes.  
It’s slightly painful, so Bucky slides a hand up the nape of Steve’s neck, tilting to a more comfortable angle and fitting their mouths together, gentling the kiss into something less panicked. Steve keeps his hands tightly clasped in Bucky’s shirt, breathing into his mouth as they trade slow, open mouthed kisses, shivering as Bucky trails metal fingers through his short blond hair.  
Bucky pulls back first, slow and sweet, pressing a last kiss to Steve’s lower lip like a punctuation mark, as if to signal a pause rather than an ending.  
He hesitates before speaking, content for a moment to breathe the same air.  
“So. That was… Yeah.”  
Steve breathes out, heavy and low. “Yeah.” His fingers are still twisted in Bucky’s shirt, hand still loosely clasped around him. Bucky massages at his knuckles until he lets go, keeping their fingers loosely tangled.  
“So,” Bucky breathes. “You okay?”  
Steve nods, pressing their foreheads together, noses brushing.   
“You want to...” Bucky lets out a nervous laugh, “Do something this week, maybe?”  
“Yeah,” Steve breathes. “That would. Yeah.”  
Bucky checks their surroundings, though they haven’t been seen. “We should get going,” he says finally.   
Steve nods, biting his lip, and that makes Bucky want to do terrible, indecent things. He clears his throat and tries to pull himself together, slipping an arm around Steve’s waist as they walk up to the estate. 

Maria is waiting for them, annoyed but not ready to kill yet. She hands over their phones and bags, reminding them to stay off social media.   
“So, I’ll see you in a few days, yeah?” Bucky murmurs as Steve puts his bag in the boot of the taxi.  
Steve nods, hesitating for a moment before Bucky pushes into his space and hugs him.   
Words fill his throat but he swallows them down, smiling and giving a dumb little wave as Steve climbs into the cab. He watches it pull away, trundling slowly down the road until Maria tells him to move his ass.   
Bucky climbs into the back of his taxi, dropping the bag on the seat next to him.  
He sits back and stares out of the window, the taste of burnt sugar still lingering on his lips.

\-----------

Coconut Rolls

dough  
400g plain flour  
60g sugar  
50g butter  
1 egg  
7g dried fast acting yeast  
150ml warm milk

Coconut filling  
150g desiccated coconut  
3 tbs melted butter  
3 tbs sugar  
2 tbs milk  
1 tbs custard powder  
1 egg

Combine the dough ingredients and mix well. Add a little milk if too dry, a little flour if too wet. Knead for 5-10 minutes, or until the dough is smooth and pliant. Cover and leaves to rise for 1 hour or until doubled in size.

Knock back the dough and give it a quick knead before rolling out into a large rectangle, about the size of a baking tray. Leave to rest while you make the filling.  
Combine all the filling ingredients in a bowl. That wasn’t so hard, was it?!  
Spread the filling all the way across the rectangle of dough and roll it up like a cigar. Cut into twelve slices and arrange on a lined baking tray. Leave to rise for 20 minutes  
Preheat oven to 180°C/350°F  
Brush the rolls with beaten egg or milk and bake for 20-25 minutes, or until golden brown.  
Eat. Eat them all before anyone finds out.


	7. Chocolate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You made me so happy…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry.
> 
> Futu - fuck  
> nech ho být - leave him alone  
> Byl jsem šťastný - I was happy  
> multumesc - thank you  
> zlatíčko - honey

Bucky shuts the taxi door and walks up the gravel drive, swinging his bag idly beside him. He pushes through the doors and into the lobby, tugging his phone out of his pocket and checking it for messages before turning it off. He finds Maria at the reception desk, phone cradled against her shoulder as she makes notes on her clipboard. She grabs a key and skids it across the desk, and Bucky slides his phone across in return. He takes the keys and shoves them in his pocket.  
“How’s it going, Maria?” he asks in a stage whisper.  
She covers the mic on her phone with one hand. “Gilded almonds. Gilded fucking almonds.” She waves him away, going back to her phonecall.  
Bucky sniggers and climbs the stairs, quickly finding his room and wrestling the door open.  
He kicks his shoes off and dumps his bag at the foot of the bed, tossing the keys onto the bedside table and stretching out over the mattress.

As weeks go, the last one had been pretty fucking good.  
Steve had been tied up most of the week with a difficult client, so Bucky had been keeping himself busy. Since the Patisserie was almost ready to launch (just waiting on the sign and dealing with the endless stream of paperwork, two things he was less than useless for) he’d taken his toolbox over to Wanda and Pietro's rattrap apartment and fixed anything that a spanner, a screwdriver and some creative swearing could fix.  
Wanda had figured out painfully quickly why he was so full of restless energy and told him to go do something about it.  
So, the first official date hadn’t been dinner, or a movie, but a hasty hour grabbed at the National Gallery, between Steve’s appointments with a timewaster in Clerkenwell and a cheapskate in Hyde Park.  
Steve had led the way up the stone steps, his portfolio batting lightly against his leg, through the entrance, turning right and pushing through the great double doors to the dimly lit room filled with Van Gogh and Gauguin and Cézanne. Bucky had listened patiently while Steve whispered in his ear about light and colour and symbolism. They had huddled together on the dark wood bench in the centre of the room and stared at ‘Cornfield, with Cypresses’, and Bucky had shivered at the restless swirls of blue, the twisting green of the trees, the yellow stalks bent almost double.  
They walked backwards through art history, leaving the nineteenth century for the eighteenth, while Steve murmured about Van Dyke and Reubens until Bucky caught him in a quiet corner by the Bakhuizen and kissed him, slow and deep and sweet, until a member of staff had politely cleared his throat and whispered ‘Not in front of the Dutch’.  
They’d apologised, and perhaps Steve had been a little more sincere of the two. Bucky just shrugged and grabbed Steve by the hand, dragging him down the stairs and out onto a quiet side street, where he could tuck them both behind a neoclassical column and kiss him until he forgot what he was so annoyed about.  
They’d parted ways soon after, when Steve’s phone pinged a reminder about his meeting. He’d apologised, bumbling between haste and reluctance to leave until Bucky had laughed and given him a gentle shove, watching him stumble down the road, his portfolio swinging in a gentle arc.  
Friday, they had agreed. Friday.

Bucky dozes for a while until he hears a soft knock at the door. He hears the creak of the hinges and the soft click of the latch, the dull thump of a bag being set down on the floor. He smiles to himself as Steve sits down on the edge of the bed.  
“Hey, Buck.”  
He opens his eyes and motions to Steve. “Get up here.”  
Steve snorts and unfastens his boots before shifting along the bed, curling up against Bucky’s shoulder when he opens up his arms in invitation.  
“This okay?” Steve asks. Bucky doesn’t answer, just makes a happy little humming noise and wraps both arms around Steve’s broad shoulders, tilting his head down to kiss the bridge of his nose.  
Steve squirms, which makes Bucky hold on tighter and pepper light kisses across his brow, his cheek, the curve of his ear, working his way slowly downwards. Steve stops struggling, tilting his head and offering up his mouth, shivering as Bucky nips at his lower lip, worries the tender flesh between his teeth and soothes with laps of his tongue.  
Bucky’s hands work their way under Steve’s t-shirt, sliding up his spine and across his shoulders, fingers splayed across their breadth. He flicks his tongue between Steve’s teeth, darting and restless against the roof of his mouth, against his teeth, against his tongue until Steve lets out a soft whine and pushes his fingers into Bucky’s dark hair, tugging him close and sucking his tongue. Bucky settles against him, trading slow and indulgent kisses until Steve is panting into his mouth, the thick line of his cock pressed against Bucky’s hip. Bucky slides his hands down Steve’s sides, resting on his hips and pulling him closer, pushing his leg between his thighs. Steve’s breath hitches in his throat and he pulls away, breaking the kiss and shifting to the side. His lips are swollen and damp, his eyes unfocused and hazy.  
“You okay, Steve?” Bucky murmurs.  
“Yeah. I just…” Steve blushes, easing his fingers loose from where they’re tangled in Bucky’s hair and taking a moment to catch his breath.  
Bucky lets his flesh hand trail south, tracing along Steve’s thigh and up the inner seam of his khaki’s before pressing firmly against the hot, heavy weight of his cock and squeezing.  
Steve shudders as Bucky rubs the heel of his hand slowly down his length.  
“You need some help with that?” Bucky offers, his voice a low rumble.  
Steve clutches at the bedsheets and makes a soft noise in the back of his throat.  
“What?” Bucky leans closer, pressing his mouth to the tender skin beneath Steve’s ear. “You want me to stop?”  
Steve whimpers as Bucky alternates between soft kisses and gentle teeth. “We’re supposed to meet the others for dinner,” he gasps.  
“Not for a while,” Bucky’s breathes hot and damp against Steve’s throat, his hand still moving maddeningly slow. “Don’t have to do anything you don’t want.”  
Steve lets out a choked noise and curves his hands around Bucky’s shoulders, crushing their mouths together, teeth clacking against each other, clumsy and frantic. Bucky wrestles open the fastening on his khakis, sliding his hand between warm skin and cotton briefs and wrapping fingers around his length. Steve keens into his mouth, hips stuttering as Bucky strokes him slowly, swiping his thumb across the crown on every upstroke. Steve wraps his arms tighter around Bucky, filling his mouth with bitten-off, breathless moans as he thrusts into Bucky'shis fist and comes. Bucky eases him through the aftershocks, fingers gentle as he brushes feather-light kisses along the line of his jaw.

Bucky fetches a damp cloth and wipes them clean, tosses it on the bedside table and pulls the covers over them both. He pulls Steve into his arms, tucking his blond head under his chin and tugging lightly at his short hair while Steve wraps around him, loose limbed and sated.  
“Should I..?” Steve murmurs, tucking his thumb into a belt loop on Bucky’s jeans.  
“Mmm. In a bit,” Bucky rumbles. Steve doesn’t argue, but keeps his hand where it is, curled possessively over Bucky’s hip. “You okay?”  
Steve makes a vaguely affirmative noise. “Not used to being with someone so…”  
“Pushy?” Bucky offers. “Horny?”  
Steve chuckles, his lips brushing against Bucky’s throat when he speaks. “Direct.”  
“Seriously?” Bucky shakes his head. “What kind of guy wouldn’t be all over you?”  
There is a very specific silence. Bucky tucks his thumb under the collar of Steve’s shirt, slowly strokes along the line of his shoulder. “Or girl,” he adds softly.  
Steve reaches up a hand to brush along bucky’s jawline. “I’m not.” He sighs and starts again. “I went to art college, you’re not the first guy I’ve kissed.” He presses his thumb to the dimple in Bucky’s chin. “Just never got further.”  
Bucky tilts his head down and catches the pad of Steve’s thumb between his teeth, touching his tongue to the rough skin. Steve brushes his thumb across Bucky’s full lower lip.  
“I’m,” Steve frowns. “I can be hard work to be around sometimes.”  
Bucky widens his eyes comically. “Really?!” he gasps. “I hadn’t noticed.”  
Steve snorts and props himself up on one elbow. He gives Bucky a shove, hand splayed across his chest.  
“Fuck off,” he mutters, blushing.  
Bucky pushes him back, knuckles against the ball of his shoulder. It’s ineffectual, but he makes his point. He curls his hand around the nape of Steve’s neck and pulls him back down.  
“I like that you’re hard work,” he nibbles Steve’s lips until they part for him and licks into his mouth, slow and filthy. Grips them hem of Steve’s t-shirt and slowly tugs it up, breaking the kiss long enough to pull the bunched cotton over his head and throw it to one side before Steve catches his mouth again. The khakis are still unfastened, and it’s short work to push them and the briefs down his narrow hips. Bucky unbuttons his jeans and shimmies them off while Steve kicks his clothing away.

Bucky pushes Steve onto his back and slides down the bed, pausing to kiss and bite at the pale skin and firm muscles laid out beneath him.  
He pauses and looks up at Steve through his dark eyelashes. “You okay there, Stevie?”  
Steve reaches out and brushes his fingers against the side of Bucky’s face. “You don’t have to...”  
Bucky wraps his prosthetic fingers around the back of Steve’s hand and presses a kiss to the palm. Then he gives Steve a filthy grin, deliberately moving the hand and placing it firmly to the back of his head. He holds it in place while he presses his nose to the line of sandy coloured hair trailing down from Steve’s navel until he gets the idea and threads his fingers in Bucky’s hair. Bucky moves his prosthetic hand to Steve’s hip, holding him in place while he wraps his other fingers around the base of Steve’s cock, half hard and thickening in his grip.  
Steve lets out a whimper as Bucky runs his tongue from the base of his cock to the tip, sliding his hand up the length and pushing back the foreskin with his mouth. Steve’s fingers twitch and fumble against his scalp as Bucky flicks his tongue over the crown, sealing his mouth over the head and swallowing down. Steve cries out, arching his spine as Bucky bobs his head, twisting his wrist as he pumps his fist. Steve gasps and clutches at Bucky’s t-shirt, tugging on the fabric until Bucky pulls off with a wet sound and looks up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.  
“You okay?” he asks softly.  
Steve swallows a whimper at the sight. “Get up here,” he pleads.  
Bucky prowls up the bed, hands resting either side of Steve’s shoulders and hovers over him, letting out a soft noise of surprise when Steve surges up to meet him, crushing their mouths together and wrapping arms around his waist. Bucky grips Steve by the shoulders, shifting his knees to straddle his lap as Steve sits up and tugs at the hem of his t-shirt, pulling back to give Bucky a hopeful look.  
“Can I?” Steve says hesitantly.  
Damnit. Like Bucky can say no to him. He nods, sitting back to let Steve drag the shirt up his chest, stripping it off and throwing it to one side while Steve trails his hands over his skin, across his chest, fingers tracing the spiderweb of scars on his shoulder.  
Bucky watches Steve’s face carefully, sees only tenderness and wonder there as he leans forward and brushes his mouth to the seam where scar tissue meets prosthetic.  
“Does this hurt?” he asks warily.  
Bucky shakes his head, resting a hand on the nape of Steve’s neck. “No. Can’t really feel much there.”  
Steve kisses the worst of the scarring, moving his mouth slowly across Bucky’s shoulder. The prosthetic registers heat and pressure, but not the brittle, vulnerable sensation in Bucky’s chest. He breathes through the twist in his throat and pushes Steve down onto the bed, hands caressing his arms as Bucky licks into Steve’s mouth, slow and tender.  
Steve’s hands move restlessly across Bucky’s skin, fingers caressing skin and scar and metal in equal measure, never flinching or hesitating as they roam.  
Bucky shifts his weight until their bodies are flush together, the thick, hard line of Steve’s cock pressed against his own, and thrusts, building a steady rhythm as Steve moans into Bucky’s shoulder and pushes against him, clumsy and furtive. Bucky sucks a trail of bruises across Steve’s shoulder, pressing his teeth into warm, honeyed skin and coming.  
Steve drags calloused fingers down Bucky’s spine, making him shiver as he comes to his senses. Bucky catches his breath and rolls onto his back, dragging Steve on top of him.  
“Buck?” Steve questions softly.  
“Just a minute,” Bucky murmurs, taking Steve’s cock in his hand and tucking it between his legs, pressing his thighs together. “Like this?” he cups his hands around Steve’s hips, spurring him into movement. Steve’s breath hitches and he rocks back and forth, pressing his face into Bucky’s neck, pained sounds falling from his open mouth.  
Bucky whispers softly, urging him on, digging fingers into the swell of his ass. Steve chokes out Bucky’s name and comes, hot and sticky between this thighs.

Steve collapses against Bucky, heavy and warm and encompassing, and they lie curled up together, the silence broken by heavy breaths. Bucky finally gives Steve a gentle push, ignoring his grumbles and forcing him onto his back. He grabs the damp cloth from the bedside table and wipes them both down, slipping out of bed and into the bathroom to rinse it off and clean between his legs. He gives the cloth a last rinse out, leaving it in the sink as he pads back to the bed and slides under the covers, barely getting settled before Steve wraps around him, tucking his head under Bucky’s chin.  
“We missed dinner,” Bucky says as he checks his watch. Steve lets out a vague hum, pressing his nose to Bucky’s jaw. Bucky smiles, letting his hands caress the broad plane of Steve’s shoulders, absently wondering about the name of each muscle group as he traces them.  
“We should set up a YouTube,” he says sleepily. Steve makes a curious noise, only half awake.  
Bucky brushes fingers through Steve’s short hair. “A YouTube? Make videos. It’ll be a hit.” Bucky twists golden hairs around his fingers. “Hours of footage of you. Making bread. From every angle.”  
Steve snorts. “Won’t that get boring?”  
“Oh, you’ll be naked,” Bucky grins, crinkling his eyes at Steve’s unconvinced expression.  
“M’not baking naked, Buck. It’s unhygienic.”  
“Shirtless then,” Bucky offers.  
“Go to sleep, Buck.”  
“Hear me out?” Bucky tucks the duvet around Steve.  
“Go to sleep.”  
Bucky sighs and presses his cheek to Steve’s forehead, slowly dozing off to the sound of his deep, steady breathing.

Bucky wakes up to his alarm, sits up and rubs the sleep from his eyes. The other side of the bed is empty, the bag that had been left by the door gone. Bucky blinks slowly, rubbing his shoulder absently. His mouth feels tacky and dry.  
He gets up, scooping his bag up off the floor by the bed and rummaging around for his bag of toiletries, before stumbling to the bathroom to brush his teeth. He showers and shaves before getting dressed, pushing his damp hair out of his eyes and feeling a stab of disappointment that Steve hadn’t woken him before he left, but then he’d probably gone off jogging at stupid o’clock in the morning, and Bucky is not exactly lucid first thing.  
He pulls on his trainers and ambles downstairs to the dining room, getting coffee and a plate of pastries before taking a seat with Bruce, who is slumped over a plate of toast, looking troubled.  
“Morning,” Bucky says cheerfully.  
Bruce gives him a weak smile. “Hi. Didn’t see you at dinner, you okay?”  
Bucky bites back a grin. As much as he’d like to say, he’d not really had the chance to talk to Steve first. The guy was painfully private, and Bucky wasn’t going to utter a word without his consent.  
“I’m good. Just needed an early night.” He takes a sip of coffee. “You seen Steve yet?”  
Bruce shakes his head, tearing his toast into little pieces.  
“You nervous?” Bucky asks.  
Bruce shakes his head. “You ever feel like you don’t belong here? Like it’s been some sort of horrible mistake, and pretty soon someone’s going to realise and come quietly remove you?”  
Bucky nods, chewing on a croissant. “Yeah. I look at Wanda and ask myself how I’m still here?”  
“You’re here because you’re gifted,” Bruce says quietly. “You’re competent, well organised and keep your head under pressure.”  
Bucky swallows and shakes his head. “I’m a novelty,” he says flatly. “I make foreign cakes and have a weird looking arm.”  
Bruce frowns at him. “That’s not why you’re still here,” he tears his pieces of toast into smaller pieces. “Maybe that’s how you got on the show, but it’s not why you’re still here.” He pushes his plate to one side. “I’m an oversight, here to make up the numbers. I should have been sent home long ago.”  
“You know that’s not true,” Bucky says, pushing his plate of pastries in front of Bruce. After a moment's hesitation he takes a pain au raisin and bites into it.  
The room fills with the other contestants, Alexander and T’Challa sitting over to one side, Wanda coming to join them. She gives Bucky a sly smirk and steals his pain au chocolat.  
Steve doesn’t show up by the end of breakfast, so Bucky wraps up a couple of croissants in a napkin for him, following the other contestants out to the lobby.  
There’s still no Steve anywhere, so he makes his way over to Maria.  
“Hey, Maria! You seen Steve?”  
She looks over from where she’s directing Wanda and Bruce into the second cab, the first one already disappearing down the driveway.  
“Just missed him,” she says, nodding down the drive. “C’mon, get in.”  
Bucky climbs into the taxi, cradling the bundled napkin in his lap as he sits down next to Wanda.  
“Something up?” she asks, noting his frown.  
“Probably nothing,” he murmurs.

Phil meets them at the estate and leads the way across the lawn to the Baking Marquee. Bucky catches Steve at the entrance, a light touch to the shoulder that makes him turn and startle when he sees Bucky holding up the napkin.  
“You forgot breakfast. Again.”  
Steve flushes and takes the offered bundle, his head bowed. Bucky tries to catch his eye, but Steve keeps his gaze fixed firmly on his wrapped pastries.  
“You okay, Steve?” Bucky asks softly.  
Steve shakes his head. “I. I don’t know,” he whispers hesitantly.  
Bucky strokes a thumb over his bicep, fingers curled loosely around his arm. “You worried about the challenges?”  
Steve nods silently, but doesn’t look up.  
“Well eat these, and drink some water. Okay?”  
“Okay,” Steve mumbles.  
“I’m gonna be right behind you, alright? You need anything, you just shout.”  
Steve nods again, still and subdued.  
“Okay. You feel up for a hug?”  
Steve doesn’t answer, just wraps his arms tightly around Bucky’s waist, crushing his face in Bucky’s shoulder. He clings too tightly, for too long and Bucky lets him, holds him gently and cups the nape of his neck, his fingers scratching gently at the base of his skull.  
Steve pulls away abruptly, muttering something that Bucky doesn’t catch before walking off. It almost sounds like an apology.

The hosts arrive, walking around the room and greeting the contestants. Natasha gives Bucky a once over and a smirk, and Bucky does his best not to fidget under her scrutiny. The judges arrive, Peggy in a bright red bomber jacket, Nick in his usual leathers.  
Phil hustles everyone into position and the cameras start rolling.  
Natasha welcomes everyone to the tent and announces that the weekend challenges will be chocolate. Clint rubs his hands together, looking unbearably gleeful when he tells them that the first challenge of the day is brownies.  
Nick tells them he expects brownies with a crisp exterior and a soft, melting interior. Peggy wishes them all good luck, and the challenge begins.

Bucky crumbles dried chillies into a bowl and covers them with boiling water. He measures out butter and dark chocolate into a pan and sets on a low heat. He strains the chillies and adds fresh water, leaving them to soak a little longer while he checks on the buttery chocolate. When he’s sure the chocolate has melted completely he sets the pan to one side to cool and strains his chillies, tipping them into a food processor and blitzing to a paste. He empties the mix into a sieve over the pan of chocolate and works the paste through the mesh with the back of a spoon, leaving the skin and seeds in the sieve. He gives the chocolate a quick stir and a taste, spicy but not overpowering.  
He checks that the oven is up to temperature and greases a square baking tin, tipping a little cocoa powder into the bottom and tapping it around until it covers the bottom and sides. He weighs eggs and caster sugar into a bowl and whisks until pale and fluffy, tapping the whisk on the side of the bowl to dislodge any excess. His shoulder twinges and he pauses to do a few stretches, glancing over at Steve, whose counter is ahead and to the right of his. Steve is spreading his brownie mix evenly in his tin and doesn’t look back at him, so Bucky returns to work.  
He pours the chocolate mixture over the egg and folds it in with a spatula, working slowly to keep from knocking out the air. He sieves in flour, spices and cocoa powder, working it in in slow, figure of eight motions until just mixed, finally adding flaked almonds, peanuts, pumpkin seeds and raisins.  
“Good morning,” Peggy says brightly.  
Bucky manages not to jump, or swear, though it’s a close thing. He can’t pinpoint the moment when Steve had figured out how Bucky didn’t like being surprised and started giving signals when the judges approached, but he’s unsettled by its absence. Steve has put his brownie in the oven, and is sat on the floor watching it bake.  
“Hey Peggs,” Bucky says when he’s caught his breath.  
“What are you making for us today?” Peggy asks cheerfully, deciding to ignore the way Bucky had yelped in surprise.  
“Teloloapan-style mole.” He says abruptly, still a little off balance.  
“Mo-lay?” Peggy enunciates curiously.  
“Yeah, it’s a Mexican chocolate chilli sauce. Got the recipe from Luis.”  
Peggy smiles brightly at the name. “And how is our dear boy?”  
Bucky fights the urge to give her a hug. “Well, nothing can keep him down, y’know?”  
Bucky tips the nuts into the mix, giving it a quick stir and pouring into the baking tin. Nick pokes a finger into the bowl and Bucky thwacks him with his spatula. Nick licks the chocolate mix off his finger and nods. “Interesting flavour,” he remarks as Peggy leads him away to the next counter.  
Bucky levels out the mixture and puts it in the oven, setting his timer and going to make some coffee.

“Hey Steve,” Bucky says quietly, holding out a mug of coffee.  
Steve flinches and looks up from his place on the floor.  
“Oh. Thanks.” He takes the offered coffee, shuffling along as Bucky sits down next to him.  
“How’s it going?” Bucky asks.  
Steve doesn’t answer, leaning forward a little until he can see where the camera crews are. Bucky watches him silently, the tension in his shoulders, the wrinkle in his brow. Something heavy and cold settles in Bucky's stomach.  
“You want to be left in peace?” he asks softly.  
“No!” Steve blurts out, then shakes his head. “I don’t know.”  
Bucky gives him a gentle pat on the knee. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”  
Steve nods, catching Bucky’s sleeve as he gets up. He opens his mouth to speak, then shuts it with an audible click of teeth. Bucky twists his hand around and catches Steve’s fingers in his, giving them a gentle squeeze before letting go. 

Bucky finishes his coffee and takes his brownie out of the oven, giving it a quick shake to check that it’s cooked. he leaves it to cool in the tin before removing it and cutting into squares. He arranges the finished pieces on a board, finishing just as Natasha calls time.  
He steps back, frowning at the finished brownies. They taste good, and look decent enough. He looks over at Steve who has his arms folded, a troubled expression on his face. Before he can ask what’s wrong Phil hustles them into position so the cameras can get footage of each contestant with their bakes before judging.

The judges approach Bruce first and try his Rocky Road brownies. Peggy remarks that he has a good amount of nuts and marshmallow in the bake. Nick finds them a little too sweet and overbaked. Clint shoves two into his mouth and garbles something inaudible but probably offensive at Nick.  
Wanda is next with her Blondie brownies, white chocolate blondie mix and dark chocolate brownie mix swirled together. Peggy loves the finish, as well as the contrast between sweet white chocolate and bitter dark. Nick admits that they’re pretty good.  
Alexander follows with triple chocolate brownies. Peggy likes the blend of dark, white and milk chocolate chunks. Nick calls it a reasonable bake.  
Bucky comes after with his mole brownies. Peggy loves the kick of chilli heat tempered by the sweetness of raisins and chocolate. Nick smiles and calls it pretty good. Clint shoves a couple in his pocket to eat later.  
Steve is next, and Bucky watches anxiously as the judges try his chocolate peanut brownies. Peggy is impressed with the layers, dark chocolate, followed by peanut butter blondie topped by more dark chocolate. Nick finds the dark chocolate too bitter. Natasha and Clint fight over a slice before declaring a truce and having one each.  
Bucky tries to get Steve’s attention as he walks back to his counter, but Steve doesn’t look up at him.  
T’Challa is last. His snowflake brownie looks beautiful, with its starbursts of sweetened cream cheese on the top, but it’s underdone in the middle. Nick shrugs and says that it needed a higher cooking temperature. T’Challa doesn’t respond, but takes his bake back to his counter, looking troubled.

Phil checks that the camera crew has everything while the contestants try each other's bakes. Bucky takes his plate of mole brownies over to Wanda, and tries not to keep glancing over at Steve, who is listlessly tidying up his counter.  
Phil sends everyone to lunch, and Bucky promises to catch up to Wanda as she heads out, and walks quietly over to Steve.  
“Hey,” he says softly.  
Steve looks up at him, anxiety twisting the corners of his mouth.  
“We need to talk.”

In Bucky’s experience no good thing has ever followed the phrase ‘We need to talk.’ He follows Steve outside to a quiet area amongst the trees, watching as he folds his arms across his chest, hugging himself. He can’t bear to see Steve upset, so cautiously steps closer and slides a hand around his shoulders. Steve doesn't lean into the touch, but doesn’t pull away either.  
“I can’t do this,” Steve whispers, barely audible.  
Bucky feels a chill that has nothing to do with the weather. He feels it deep in his bones, in the wiring in his prosthetic. He presses his face to Steve’s blond hair, breathing in the scent of him, sweet and rich.  
“What’s wrong?” he tries to keep the whine out of his voice. “Did I fuck up?”  
“I can’t. I can’t compete with someone I’m… with,” Steve says slowly, each word forcing its way out of him.  
Bucky lets out a breath. “That’s it? Because of a cooking show?” he shakes his head. “Fine, I’ll quit.”  
Steve pulls away sharply, scowling at Bucky. “You can’t do that!” he snaps, taking a step back, out of Bucky’s reach. “You have just as much right to be here as I do!”  
Bucky raises his hands placatingly. “It’s okay, Steve.”  
“It’s not,” Steve snarls. “You think it’s any better if I force you out? You think I can live with that?”  
Bucky shakes his head. “You’re not forcing me.” He lets his hands drop to his side. “It’s not even a choice. if it’s you or this fucking show of course I’d quit.”  
Steve lets out a small, broken sound. “Don’t.”  
“I’m serious,” Bucky takes a hesitant step closer. “It’s just a baking competition, it doesn’t matter.” He holds his hands out. He wants to move closer, to feel Steve’s warm, sweet skin against his fingers again.  
Steve shakes his head. “I can’t.”  
“Can’t what?”  
Steve lets his shoulders slump. He looks defeated, exhausted. “I can’t. I can’t have all those cameras watching. I can’t… It’s national TV, Buck. They show it all round the world.” Steve covers his face with his hand. “I’ve got a career to think of. I worked so fucking hard to get here.”  
Bucky closes the gap between them, skims the palms of his hands, skin and metal, over Steve’s shoulders. “We’ll figure it out,” he promises. Steve shakes his head again.  
“You saw what happened to Thor and Jane. And they were...” Steve’s voice catches in his throat.  
Bucky closes his eyes and counts to five, breathing out slowly as he does so, his hands moving lightly over Steve’s arms. He feels so fucking cold, like if he starts shivering he’ll never stop again. He thinks of Steve’s mouth pressed against the seam between prosthetic and flesh. Thinks of the relentless Afghan sun and sand clogging up his throat.  
“I can’t do it,” Steve says finally. “Millions of people watch the show.” His voice is faint, his expression distant, like he’s already walked away and left a weak afterimage of himself in Bucky’s arms.  
Bucky tries to speak, but there’s sand in his throat. He can’t breathe for it.  
“M’sorry, Buck,” Steve whispers, his voice thick. “I really did... “ He swallows and clears his throat. “You made me so happy…”  
Steve falls silent, his breath hitching in his chest. Bucky takes a deep breath, painful and sharp, ghosting his fingertips across Steve’s shoulders and settling them against the line of his jaw. He presses but Steve doesn’t lift his head. Bucky tips forward and presses their foreheads together.  
“Okay,” he chokes out. “It’s okay.”  
Steve flinches like the words sting. “It’s not.”  
Bucky cradles Steve’s face in his hands, fingertips brushing the lobes of his ears. If the prosthetic registers anything, he can’t tell anymore.  
“You’re still my friend, Steve. Whatever happens.”  
Steve pulls away, taking step after step back. The distance between them feels vast, impossible. He runs his sleeve across his face and looks away, staring sightlessly through the trees.  
“How can I talk to you, now?” Steve says, his voice faint. “How can I even look at you when you’re not..?” he swallows and rubs the heel of his hand across his eyes.  
“Clean break,” Steve says numbly.  
Bucky makes a wounded sound, low in his throat. “Steve, don’t say that.”  
Steve shakes his head, slow and final, moving further away.  
“Please. Leave me alone, okay?” he says, his voice brittle.  
Bucky doesn’t answer, and Steve turns, walking slowly until he’s out of sight between the trees. He doesn’t look back.

Bucky stares at nothing, counting his breaths. His throat aches, his limbs heavy and cold.  
It takes a while to notice the voice speaking to him, longer to realise that it’s Natasha, standing just out of arms reach. He blinks, failing to catch the thread of what she’s saying.  
“Nat?” he mumbles, the word comes out rough and strange.  
She hesitates before taking a step closer, reaching out a hand and pressing it to Bucky’s cheek. He closes his eyes, leans into her hand and for a moment he can’t breathe, like there is a weight against his ribcage. He blinks the thought away and takes a deep, rattling breath. Natasha strokes a thumb across his cheek and he wonders why her fingers are wet.  
“C’mon, let's get you cleaned up,” she says.  
Bucky lets himself be led through the trees, Natasha keeping a hand at his elbow, her fingers loosely curled. She leads him to the estate, through the grand entrance and the main hall, along a maze of corridors to a small bathroom and shuts the door behind hem, leaning against it like a physical barricade.  
Bucky approaches the sink, taking a moment to stare at his reflection, at the blotchy skin, red eyes and tangled hair. He wonders briefly, horribly, why he ever thought he stood a chance, before turning on the taps and splashing cold water on his face. He holds his wrists under the taps, letting the water wash over the blue threads branching out under thin skin.  
He turns off the taps, straightens up and tugs his fingers through his hair, brushing it back until he looks halfway presentable. He looks up at his reflection and sees Natasha watching him carefully.  
“You get into a fight with Steve?” she asks quietly.  
Bucky closes his eyes. “Something like that.”  
“A little convenient, isn’t it?” she adds carefully.  
Bucky’s eyes snap open. “What do you mean?” he snarls.  
Natasha doesn’t back down. “I mean you’re a strong contender for finalist, might even win. Pretty convenient if you had a meltdown and quit.” She shrugs. “Or got eliminated.”  
Bucky turns to face her. “You know about that?”  
She looks briefly surprised, her expression quickly smooths out to something more neutral. “I know Jane is smart enough to work an oven. That if Luis was going to fuck up anywhere it wouldn’t be on _sweet dough_.”  
“It’s not the producers?” Bucky glances over at Natasha. Natasha who had dragged him through an entire country estate and shut the door on a windowless little room to have this conversation with him.  
Natasha shakes her head. “No. They fucking _love it_. Wish they’d thought of it first.” She scowls. “I’m pretty sure it’s a contestant, but nothing’s been caught on camera.”  
“If they were,” Bucky asks slowly. “Would it make a difference?”  
Natasha shakes her head. “To the competition? No. They’d air it, though. Ratings, column inches, all that shit.” She sighs and slumps against the door. “It wasn’t always like this. Used to just be cakes and innuendo.”  
Bucky watches her closely. “You and Clint,” he says quietly.  
She gives him a wry little smile. “It would affect the ratings. People like to be kept guessing.”  
“Sorry,” Bucky says weakly.  
She shrugs. “We met on the show. Been together six years now.”  
“It’s not Steve,” Bucky says after a moment's silence.  
“I know. Had to be sure.” Natasha puts her hand on the door. “You ready to go back to the tent?”  
“No,” Bucky sighs.  
“Doing it anyway?”  
“Yup.”

Clint comes jogging over to meet them as they come in sight of the Marquee.  
“Where the fuck have you guys been?” he mutters. “Everyone’s gone insane.” He takes in Bucky’s appearance and shakes his head. “Wanda’s about to commit murder, Steve’s going on about _quitting_.”  
Bucky looks over at the Marquee entrance, where Wanda has Steve cornered and is tearing into him.  
“ _Futu_ ,” Bucky mutters under his breath, striding across the grass to the pair.  
“Wanda,” he snaps “ _Nech ho být_.”  
She whips around to face him. Steve keeps his head turned away, his shoulders hunched.  
“He hurt you,” she says as Bucky comes closer, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her to his side.  
“Păpuşă, he hurt us both,” he says quietly.  
He leads her into the tent, pausing in front of Steve for a moment. Steve keeps his head down, arms folded tightly across his chest.  
“Stay,” Bucky says. He doesn’t beg. Steve’s eyes flick up to him and away again. He nods once, sharp and resolute, and doesn’t look at Bucky again. 

Clint introduces the Technical Challenge, reminding the audience watching that it’s an opportunity for the bakers to show off their baking knowledge when working with the most basic instructions.  
Peggy announces the challenge; a chocolate tart. Nick adds that he wants crisp, well baked pastry and a rich chocolate filling. Natasha reminds them that the challenge is judged blind and sends Nick and Peggy out of the Marquee before telling them to get started.

Bucky turns over the sheet and reads through the basic instructions. There is a list of ingredients and weights, below that the instructions are nothing more than ‘make the pastry’ and ‘make the filling.’  
Bucky sighs and rubs his eyes, they feel gritty and sore. He stares at the instructions, blinking. Does he bake the filling or chill it in the fridge? It looks like a ganache, but the pastry will need baking.  
Why is he even bothering?  
“Barnes,” Natasha says quietly.  
He looks up, she’s hovering at the edge of her counter. He hadn’t even noticed her come over.  
“Time's a-wasting,” He voice is low, concerned.  
Bucky looks around to see the other contestants bringing together their pastry. He looks down at his list.  
“What do you need to do?” Natasha asks him.  
He stares at her for a moment. “Make pastry,” he says slowly.  
She nods. “Show me how.”  
Bucky weighs out flour and butter, rubbing them together until he has fine breadcrumbs. He adds sugar and egg yolk, bringing it together to form a soft dough. He wraps it and puts it in the fridge.  
Natasha stays by his side while he rolls out the pastry and lines a fluted tin. Watches as he blind bakes it and measures cream into a small pan, breaking dark chocolate into pieces and dropping them in along with butter and a few drops of vanilla extract, pausing to rub his sleeve across his eyes. The cuff of his t-shirt is soaked through by the time the pastry case is cooled enough to fill with the chocolate ganache. He can’t quite figure out why.  
He sets the tart in the fridge to chill. He has an hour or so left, so he goes outside to get some air. He walks in circles on the grass until Wanda comes out to keep him company. He doesn’t feel like talking, so they walk their little circles in silence, her small hand in his, their fingers interwoven.  
They return to the Marquee when Natasha calls them, going to their separate counters. Bucky fetches his tart from the fridge and works it loose from its tin, placing it on the plate provided.  
Clint calls time, telling everyone to step away from their bakes. Bucky looks down at his tart, it’s crust evenly baked with a rich, glossy finish. He can’t remember making it.

The contestants take their plates up to the table set at the front of the Marquee, setting them behind the photos lined up along the table and facing away from the judges before taking a seat on the line of stools. Bucky sits in his usual place at one end. After a moment Steve goes over to the other end of the row and takes a seat next to T’Challa, and Bucky fights the urge to throw up. He presses his face to Wanda’s shoulder and takes deep, slow breaths until the moment passes, sitting up straight when Nick and Peggy return and the judging begins.

Nick walks up and down the table, remarking on the difference in colour and finish on the bakes. Clint rubs his hands together and tells Nick to get on with it.  
They cut into each bake, commenting on the pastry and filling. Nick shows no mercy, pointing out undercooked bases and overworked dough. Peggy says something positive about each one. Bucky feels no nerves, no tension. He doesn’t remember which tart is his.  
The judges rank the tarts from worst to best. Bruce comes in last, his pastry underbaked and his filling too soft. Steve is next, his dough overworked and tough. Steve bites his lip and nods as Nick lists the faults with his bake. Wanda strokes Bucky’s hands, murmuring to him softly in Sokovian until he realises his hands are clenched into fists, his knuckles bone white, and loosens them.  
Bucky comes in third place, followed by Alexander. Wanda comes in first place. Bucky hugs her and whispers in her ear the small important things that she doesn’t hear often enough.  
“You have to stay too,” she tells him when no one is listening. “I can’t do this without you, you have to stay too.”

Phil corners Bucky while Wanda is talking to Bruce and takes him outside for an interview. He lets Phil position him in front of a cluster of trees and fret over framing and light levels. Bucky closes his eyes for a moment. He feels so damn tired.

_Bucky stares off into the middle distance for a long time before speaking.  
“I screwed up,” he says finally. “I don’t even know what I did, or how to fix it.”  
He is quiet again, biting the inside of his cheek.  
“It’s over.”_

Instead of walking back to the Marquee Bucky wanders across the grass. As long as his feet keep moving he doesn’t have to think. The plan only works for so long before Wanda comes looking for him, and leads him to the taxi and back to the hotel.  
Bucky can’t stomach the thought of dinner, Wanda relents and lets him go hide in his room.  
The bed has been made with fresh sheets. Bucky can’t tell if he’s relieved or disappointed. Instead of ordering room service like he’d promised, he gets undressed and crawls under the covers. He dozes for a while before dropping into fitful, restless sleep.

There’s something wrapped around his arm, just below the shoulder. It hurts, the pressure tight and twisting. He tries to grab it, to pull himself free, but Jones is holding him in place.  
Morita is doing something unforgivable. Something wet and cracking and loud that makes Falsworth pale and turn away, throwing up his rations over the dirt track.  
“The heli’s on it’s way, Sarge.” Jones tells him, pushing his wrist into the dirt until he can feel the bones grinding.  
“Casualties?” he chokes. He can’t breathe.  
“Just you, Sarge,” Jones tells him.  
He can’t answer. His mouth is full of blood and sand. There is a weight on his chest, heavy, crushing. He gasps, panting in shallow desperate breaths.

Bucky scrambles out of bed and makes it to the bathroom before throwing up, dry heaves cramping his empty stomach.  
He sits on the cold tiled floor and tries to steady his breathing, to slow his heart. He takes a breath, counting to five. Lets it out, counting to five.  
When he can stand he turns on the bathroom light, rubbing at his watering eyes until they grow accustomed to the brightness. He washes his face in the sink, pushes the hair out of his eyes and stares at his reflection for a moment before turning away, grabbing his keys and slipping out of the room. He shuts the door quietly behind him, turning the key in the lock and padding along the dimly lit hallway and down the stairs. He follows the corridor until he reaches the right door, tapping softly and waiting.  
He’s about to turn around and skulk back to his room when the door opens and Wanda looks out, in faded red pyjamas with her hair in a loose ponytail  
“Tata,” she whispers.  
“Hey, _zlatíčko_ ,” Bucky says with a crooked smile.  
Wanda holds the door open and he shuffles into her room, fidgeting with his room keys, passing them from hand to hand. She plucks them out of his grasp and sets them on the bedside table before getting back into bed.  
After a long, uncertain moment, Bucky follows her, curling up at the edge of the mattress. She tucks herself behind him, clasping their hands together across his chest and pressing her face to the nape of his neck.  
“ _Byl jsem šťastný_ ,” he breathes.  
“I know, tata,” Wanda presses her cheek between his shoulder blades.  
Bucky listens to her breathing, feels her heart beating, and falls asleep.

Bucky wakes up to the sound of the shower running, and it takes a moment to work out where he is. The why comes shortly after.  
Fuck.  
He shifts his legs away so Wanda can sit on the edge of the bed, and watches silently as she carefully applies her make up. Dark sweeps over her eyes, blood red lips. The phrase ‘War paint’ comes to mind. When he mentions it, she laughs and tells him that’s exactly what it is.  
She forces him out of bed while she packs up her bag, marching him out the door and up the stairs to his own room, where she stands sentry while changes out of his nightclothes, showers and dresses, shoving his belongings into his bag and hitching it onto his shoulder.  
They head downstairs, handing over room keys and bags to Maria before being going to the dining room.  
Bucky is half-tempted to make his excuses again and avoid breakfast, but Wanda scowls at him like she knows what he’s thinking. Damned smart kid, what would he do without her? She pushes him into a chair opposite Bruce and goes to fetch coffee and pastries.  
“How are you holding up?” Bruce asks quietly.  
Bucky looks over at him, his hair tangled, his face sallow. “I’ve been better. You?”  
Bruce sighs. “The same.”  
Wanda sits down next to him with coffee and croissants, and Bucky wraps his arms around her and kisses her cheek. She blushes and gives him a weak punch to the arm. He wants to tell her how grateful he is to have her in his life, how sorry he is for being such a wreck. He wants to promise that he’ll stay by her side.  
“ _Multumesc_ ,” he murmurs. It’s not enough, but it’s all he has to offer.

Bucky doesn’t see Steve until they reach the Baking Marquee. He looks tired, withdrawn, and Bucky’s heart thumps painfully in his chest.  
“Be nice,” he tells Wanda. She scowls, but doesn’t refuse him.  
Clint and Natasha arrive, doing a circle of the room and checking in with everyone. Natasha takes a few minutes at Bucky’s counter.  
“You gonna be okay, Barnes?” she asks eventually.  
Bucky nods, and looks over at Steve for a moment before turning back to her. “You keep an eye on him?”  
She smiles at him, small but sincere, before walking away.  
The judges arrive and Phil gets the cameras in position before the day's challenge.  
Natasha introduces the Showstopper Challenge, explaining to the cameras that it’s a chance for the bakers to display their creative skills to produce something delicious and visually stunning. Nick announces the challenge itself; a chocolate centrepiece cake.  
The hottest day of the year so far and they're supposed to be tempering and setting chocolate. Fuck.  
Clint wishes them good luck, and the challenge begins.

Bucky props the postcard he’s using for reference on the counter in front of him and gets started on his base cake, a dense, sticky chocolate gingerbread that should be able to hold all the chocolate pieces in place. He weighs butter, sugar, golden syrup and black treacle into a pan and sets it on a low heat to melt down. He preheats the oven, then measures out flour, cocoa, raising agent and spices and sets them to one side before greasing a rectangular baking tin. He removes the pan from the heat and stirs in chocolate chips until they’re melted. When the mix is cool enough, he beats in the eggs and adds the flour, stirring until it’s well mixed. He pours it into the tin, levelling out the surface, and puts it in the oven to bake. He sets his timer for forty minutes and gets to work tempering his chocolate.  
He lays out a sheet of baking paper on a tray and marks a rectangle on it in pencil. Then he sets up two pans of water with glass bowls set on top of them and breaks up white chocolate into each one. He prods each one with a digital thermometer, when they reach 37°C he moves them over to the sink to stand in cold water, making sure none splashes into the bowls and seizes the chocolate, stirring them until the temperature comes down to 30°C. He takes the bowls out of the sink and adds blue food colouring to one, stirring until it’s marbled rather than incorporated. He tips most of the white chocolate onto the baking paper, smoothing it out within the edges of the pencil marks. He drips the marbled blue chocolate in random places over the white chocolate, swirling it in curls and spirals. He wipes the fork clean and dips it into the remaining white chocolate, adding highlights here and there, checking his postcard occasionally. The results aren’t perfect, but he doesn’t want to keep poking at it and make it worse. With the weather so hot, he has no chance of setting the chocolate out in the open, so he takes the tray to the fridge, sliding it onto one of the shelves to chill.  
He lays another sheet of baking paper on a tray and adds green colouring to the rest of his white chocolate, mixing it it. The results are a little dark, but will do. He spoons the coloured chocolate onto the sheet, using the back of the spoon to make elongated teardrop shapes, and zigzagging through them with a fork. He puts the tray in the fridge and checks on his gingerbread, pulling it out of the oven and setting it to one side to cool.  
He breaks more white chocolate into a bowl, adding an equal amount of cream, and sets it on a low heat. 

Bucky looks up from his counter at the room around him, at the other contestants at work. Steve his hunched over a sheet of baking paper, pen in hand. There are dark smudges under his eyes.  
Bucky takes the white chocolate ganache off the heat and scrapes it out into a bowl that he puts in the fridge. He goes to the kettle, fills it and switches it on, making green tea for Wanda and chamomile for Bruce. He makes himself coffee, and after a moment of hesitation, a second cup of chamomile. Maybe it’ll get thrown in his face, maybe not. Maybe it will help.  
Bucky takes the drinks to Wanda and Bruce, Wanda calm and determined, Bruce increasingly agitated. He’s already shouted at Alexander for something, though Bucky had missed the details of the exchange. Alexander was keeping well away from him now, at least.  
The other chamomile tea he takes to Steve.

“Hey, Steve,” he says quietly.  
Steve looks up from his sketch and pales at the sight of him. Bucky sets the mug down on the edge of the counter.  
“Brought you some tea,” Bucky mumbles.  
Steve’s expression crumbles, and he looks away. “You didn’t have to.”  
“You doing okay?” Bucky asks carefully. “The bake and… everything.”  
Steve lets out a bitter little chuckle and shakes his head.  
Bucky pushes the mug a little closer. “Drink it. It’ll help.”  
Steve nods and mumbles something Bucky doesn’t catch.  
“Alright,” Bucky says after a moment. He wants to reach out, to place his hand on Steve’s arm, his shoulder, anything.  
From across the Marquee, T’Challa curses loudly. Bucky looks up, Steve straightening upright next to him. T’Challa is holding a tray, the pieces of chocolate laid out across it melted and misshapen.  
“I put this in the fridge,” he says, his voice low and furious. “Who moved it?’ No one answers him. “Who moved it?” he asks again.  
Bucky starts moving forward between the counters, making his way over to where T’Challa stands.  
“Was it you?” T’Challa snaps, Bucky shakes his head.  
“What do you need?” Bucky asks.  
For a moment T’Challa stares at him, and Bucky takes the tray from his unresisting hand.  
“You got your cake?” T’Challa nods and looks over at the chocolate fudge cake on his counter, a bowl each of buttercream and glaze beside it. “Okay. What do you need?”  
T’Challa turns back to Bucky. “Tempered dark chocolate.”  
Bucky calls out to Phil for more dark chocolate while fills a pan with water and puts it on the hob. “You’re doing a mirror glaze, yeah?”  
T’Challa makes an affirmative noise, watching as Bucky sets a clean bowl on the pan and breaks chocolate into pieces.  
“Okay, I’ll get the chocolate sorted, you finish the cake.”  
Bucky moves around him to clear out his sink, stacking dirty bowls on the floor and filling the sink with cold water. For a moment T’Challa stares at him, then picks up a palette knife and starts icing his cake.  
Bucky brings the chocolate up to temperature, setting it carefully in the sink to cool while T’Challa smoothes buttercream across his cake, fetching a sheet of parchment and laying it on a baking tray.  
“Chocolates tempered,” Bucky tells him.  
T’Challa murmurs a thank you, pouring the chocolate into a bag and piping out his designs on the paper, quick and sloppy. He mutters under his breath, but gives Bucky a grateful look.  
“Thank you, I can manage from here.”  
“You sure?”  
T’Challa manages a smile. “Thank you.”

Bucky hurries back to his end of the Marquee, grabs his ganache out of the fridge and adds a dot of yellow food colouring. He whisks until it’s light and airy and scoops it into a piping bag. Wanda, bless her, has taken his gingerbread out of the tin and set it on the display board for him while he was helping T’Challa, so he wastes no time piping the pale yellow ganache over the dark, sticky cake. He has just enough to cover it, and takes a step back to check it over. The sides look good, though the top is messy. He pokes at it with a fork a little before putting the damn thing in the fridge to firm up.  
He checks on Steve, who is struggling with his piece, a blocky looking suspension bridge that he can’t quite hold together. Bucky wipes his hands with a tea towel and quickly walks over.  
“Hey, Steve,” he calls.  
Steve looks up at him. “The chocolates too thin, it’s melting.”  
Steve is trying to hold a piped chocolate mesh against two chocolate towers, but with the heat of the Marquee and his own body, it’s smearing his fingers. Bucky moves around him, carefully taking hold of the mesh in his prosthetic hand and holding it in place.  
“It runs below body temperature. Won’t melt the chocolate,” he explains quickly.  
Steve nods dumbly, picking up his piping bag and quickly sticking the mesh into place with ganache. He lifts up the second piece off it’s baking paper backing and slots it into place, glueing it down while Bucky holds it steady. They manage to transfer the whole thing to the fridge to set without it falling apart, and Bucky sends Steve to ice his cake, making him promise to ask for a hand getting the model bridge out of the fridge again later.

Natasha calls out that there are five minutes to go and Bucky swears under his breath, taking his chocolate pieces out of the fridge and setting them on the counter along with the cake. The ganache hasn’t quite set, so he uses a few bamboo skewers to prop up the sheets of tempered chocolate where he presses them into the cake. The large sheet a swirling cloud background, fronted by individual chocolate trees on a cake decorated to look like a cornfield. He goes back over to Steve, and together they move his chocolate suspension bridge out of the fridge and onto his buttercream covered cake.  
Natasha calls time, and the challenge is over.  
Steve grabs the cuff of Bucky’s t-shirt and tugs, but he doesn’t say anything, just gives Bucky a sorrowful, desperate look.  
“It’s okay,” Bucky soothes, covering his shaking fingers with the palm of his hand.  
Phil calls the contestants to their counters so the cameras can get footage of them with their bakes while the judging table and stools are set up at the front of the Marquee.  
They take their seats, Steve taking a stool at the opposite end of the row to where Bucky is sat again, but catches his eye and wishes him good luck.

Steve is called up to the judges first with his Devil’s food cake. He explains that he has topped it with a model of Brooklyn bridge. Peggy finds the cake exceptional, and Nick is impressed with the architectural quality of the chocolate decoration which is well tempered and has a good snap when broken.  
Bruce follows with his centerpiece, a tempered chocolate jewellery box filled with cakepops dusted with edible glitter. Peggy loves the idea of a giftbox filled with tiny cakes. Nick considers it cheating as he hasn’t made a full sized cake. Bruce loses his temper and slams his hands on the table, scattering cake pops, and asks Nick what his fucking problem is.  
They take a break from filming for a few minutes while Bruce takes a walk outside, refusing any company from Bucky or Wanda. Phil eventually sends Natasha out to keep an eye on him while the judging continues.  
Bucky is next, and carries his bake down to the judges. Peggy smiles at him when she recognises the design.  
“Oh, Van Gogh. How lovely,” she exclaims.  
Bucky swallows down the lump in his throat. “Yeah,” his voice catches and he clears his throat. “Yeah. I saw it recently in London and…” All the things that he had been thinking when he’d come up with the design, well they didn’t matter anymore. The things he’d been trying to say were a moot point.  
“A reminder of a happy time,” Peggy asks. Bucky nods, giving her a crooked smile.  
Nick cuts into the cake, calling it a good bake, and snaps off a piece of sky, which he finds too thick.  
“Kind of the point,” Bucky mutters to himself as he takes it away.  
Alexander is called up with his cake designed to look like a castle, it’s parapets and crenelations made with sheets of tempered chocolate with gold dusted almonds pressed into them. Nick and Peggy call it a well executed bake.  
T’Challa follows with his mirror glazed chocolate fudge cake, decorated with tempered dark chocolate pieces. Peggy finds the cake well baked and moist, and the mirror finish perfect. Nick finds the shards too slapdash in design and too bitter to the taste. He does call them well-tempered.  
Wanda is last with a rosewater and chocolate cake, decorated with chocolate roses, each petal handmade. Peggy adores it, marvelling at each carefully crafted rose. Nick finds the flavour of rosewater in the cake a little overpowering, and Peggy makes a scornful noise at him.

The judges leave the tent to discuss the weekend's challenges while the contestants wait around. Bucky spends a few minutes with Wanda watching as she demonstrates how to make chocolate roses. The process looks fiddly, but she works quickly, pressing petal after petal of modelling chocolate onto a bamboo skewer until she has a rose in full bloom. He tucks it behind his ear and goes to fetch some of his gingerbread, pausing when he sees Steve at his counter, running a fingertip over the white and blue whorls of the tempered chocolate.  
“You made the Van Gogh,” he whispers. “It’s beautiful.”  
Bucky shifts nervously, then pulls the rose from behind his ear.  
“Here,” he says quietly, holding it out.  
Steve looks like he’ll refuse, then gingerly reaches out and takes the flower.  
Bucky clears his throat, and tries to figure out what to say. He’s still trying when Phil sends everyone off for lunch. 

Bucky doesn’t feel like he can stomach food, so goes looking for Bruce. He finds Natasha by the stone bridge, watching Bruce sit at the water's edge.  
“Hey, Nat. How’s he doing?”  
“Calmed down,” Natasha gives him a frank looking over. “You?”  
Bucky shrugs. “I’ll live.”  
Bucky makes his way through the long grass and sits down on the mossy bank beside Bruce, watching as he tosses a pebble into the clear water and stares as the ripples tremble out across the surface. Bruce gives him a sideways glance.  
“My turn for a pep talk, is it?”  
Bucky huffs. “Not if you don’t want.” He draws his knees up, resting his folded arms across them. “Sorry, force of habit. I was a Sergeant in the army, which means running between soldiers and officers trying to get shit done with minimal casualties.”  
Bruce laughs. “Yeah, I bet you were nothing like this before then.”  
Bucky chuckles. “Fair point.”  
They sit in silence, watching the river running past, until Natasha calls out that the results are in.  
Bucky gets up, brushing stray grass off his jeans.  
“You coming?”  
Bruce gets up without answering, and they walk back to the Marquee.

The other contestants have already taken their seats and the judges are standing in place at the front of the Marquee when they arrive. Bucky lets Bruce go at his own pace, taking a seat at the end of the row while Bruce sits between him and Wanda.  
Clint and Natasha take turns congratulating the contestants on a difficult series of challenges and remind the cameras that Nick and Peggy have decided on the best and worst bakers of the weekend, the best named Star Baker, the worst sent home.  
Peggy beams at them when she announces that the winner is Wanda.  
Bucky reaches over to touch her shoulder. “ _Miláček_ ,” he whispers. She blushes and takes a swipe at him.  
Nick tells them the contestant leaving the show is T’Challa. There is a shocked silence for a moment, and Peggy steps forward to hug him, murmuring apologies as she does so. Nick pats him on the shoulder and tells him it was bad luck, he had a bad weekend.  
Wanda joins him with the judges, listening to their comments and expressing her sympathies to T’Challa.  
Bucky looks over at Bruce, his face is pale, his expression sour.  
“It should have been me,” Bruce mumbles, shocked and appalled.  
Wanda rejoins them in time for Phil handing out next week's challenges, giving Bruce a sympathetic look as he presses the paper in his hand. Bruce bows his head to read, and makes a pained sound. Bucky checks his own copy. Pâtisserie.  
He looks over at Steve across the room, holding up the sheet when he catches his eye. Steve gives him a shy smile and nods, and it makes Bucky’s heart clench, sweet and painful. 

The contestants slowly work their way out of the Marquee and down to the estate, Bucky walking slowly, nodding to people as they pass. He feels a hand touch his shoulder and turns, fighting the wave of disappointment when it’s T’Challa wishing to speak to him and not Steve.  
“A moment of your time?” T’Challa asks, his voice low and sombre.  
Bucky nods, stepping to one side as Wanda and Bruce pass, Wanda looking over her shoulder at them curiously.  
T’Challa folds his hands in front of him and gives Bucky an awkward smile. “I wanted to thank you for your help.”  
Bucky shakes his head. “No need. I’m sorry it wasn’t enough.”  
“The odds were against me,” T’Challa admits. He gives Bucky a searching look, eyes piercing. “I have misjudged you,” he declares.  
Bucky shrugs. “Not the first. Don’t worry about it.”  
“I put my faith in the wrong person, and it cost me,” T’Challa says. There is no anger in his expression, just acceptance. He turns to watch the other contestants in the distance.  
“Alexander,” he murmurs, his voice pitched low.  
Bucky grits his teeth. “You got any proof?”  
“No, nor am I going to encourage you to beat him at his own game.”  
Bucky shakes his head. “Wouldn’t even consider it.”  
T’Challa smiles at him. “You will look after you friends, and keep your eye on him.”  
Bucky bites the inside of his cheek. “That’s the plan.”  
T’Challa holds out his hand. “You’re a good man, Barnes. I wish we could have been friends.”  
Bucky takes his hand and gives it a quick, firm shake. “You too. Far as I’m concerned, we are.”  
Bucky watches him walk away, and slowly follows.

Maria hands him his bag and phone, and points to Wanda waiting for him by the last taxi.  
“Prepare to get your ass kicked, Barnes,” she tells him cheerfully.  
He tucks the phone into his pocket and walks over.  
“Hey, păpuşă,” he sighs.  
“You’re coming home with me,” Wanda folds her arms across her chest and glares at him.  
“I can’t sleep on your couch,” he mutters.  
“Sleep on the floor.”  
“Wanda…”  
“I’m not leaving you on your own,” she sniffs. “You come home with me.”  
Bucky sighs, brushing his fingers through his tangled hair. “Fine, but you’re teaching me how to make eclairs.”  
Bucky lets himself be bundled into the waiting taxi, tucking his head into her shoulder.  
He doesn’t turn on his phone, the one person he wants to talk to wouldn’t answer him. Not now.

\-------

Salted Chocolate Tart

300 ml double cream  
2 tsp caster sugar  
50g butter  
200g dark chocolate, broken into small pieces  
50 ml whole milk  
375g shortcrust pastry  
Sea salt flakes 

Preheat oven to 180C/350F/Gas 4. Roll out the pastry and use it to line a 23cm greased tart tin. Cover with baking paper, fill with dried beans and bake blind for 10-15 minutes, until golden.  
Put the cream and sugar in a pan and bring to the boil. Remove as soon as the mixture boils up. Off the heat, add the butter and chocolate, and stir until blended.  
Leave to stand for a few minutes and stir in the milk. Keep stirring till the mix is glossy. Pour into the tart shell and leave at room temperature for 2 hours to set.  
Sprinkle with salt flakes


	8. Patisserie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s okay,” Bucky insists. “You’ll be okay.”  
> Steve sniffs. “Stop being so nice.”  
> Bucky smiles. “You’re gonna be okay, but you’re still an asshole. That better?”  
> Steve lets out an odd, choked laugh. “Much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Patisserie and pining, folks
> 
> Thank you, as always, to Eidheann for beta skills and mutual lusting over baked goods.
> 
> Thank you to Rohkeutta for being a source of information for Finnish baked goods. Terrible fish bread is still terrible, though.
> 
> Chceš ho zpátky? - You want him back?  
> fata mea genial - my clever girl  
> Nech ho být - let him be  
> citový - sentimental  
> te iubesc - I love you

Bucky steps out of the taxi and holds the door open while Wanda gets out, shutting it and taking their bags out of the boot. He nods to the driver and takes a step back as the car ambles down the gravel driveway, before following Wanda in to the lobby.  
Maria looks up at them and smirks. “Aww, Wanda. You could do a hell of a lot better.”  
Wanda grimaces. “Ugh. He’s old enough to be my father.”  
“Hey!” Bucky cries out. “Am not.” He counts on his fingers. “Okay, but only just. Also there’s the whole…”  
Wanda mouths the word ‘vagina’ at him and he shudders.  
Maria smirks while they hand over their phones, giving them each a room key. They say their goodbyes and walk over to the stairs. Wanda's room is on the ground floor, Bucky’s upstairs.  
“You be okay, tata?” Wanda murmurs.  
Bucky reaches out and gives her hand a quick squeeze. “I’ll be fine.”  
“You’re coming to dinner,” she tells him. “Don’t make me come get you.”  
He snaps off a salute and starts climbing the stairs, finding his room and wrestling open the lock. He pushes the door closed behind him and kicks off his shoes, dropping his bag at the foot of the bed.  
He sits on the edge of the mattress. The week hadn’t been so bad, though being under constant supervision by Wanda or Pietro had been draining. Though not as draining as an afternoon with Luis, who blamed himself for the whole debacle and force fed him _arepas_ to make amends. Bucky curls up on the mattress. After a week of sleeping on a ratty old couch it should feel like bliss to stretch out, but instead the bed is too big and too empty, so he makes himself as small as possible and hugs the edge of the bed.  
He lies there in silence for a minute before he sets an alarm. Steve won’t come knocking at his door tonight, to talk about the weekend ahead and make sure he gets up for dinner.  
Bucky closes his eyes and slips into a fitful sleep.

He wakes up to his alarm, disoriented and confused, and takes a moment to breathe, listing the things he can see in the room until he comes back to himself.  
He washes his face in the bathroom sink and stares at himself in the mirror, at the dark circles under his eyes and the grey pallor to his skin.  
Oh yeah. A fucking catch.  
He sighs, badgering himself to get it together and fetching a clean t-shirt from his bag, quickly getting changed before pulling on his shoes and picking up his keys. He locks up and heads downstairs to the lobby.  
Wanda is already there, looking around for him. Standing unpleasantly close to her is Alexander. Across the lobby is Steve.  
Bucky hesitates on the stairs, half tempted to turn around and go back the way he came before anyone realises he’s there. He bites the inside of his cheek and keeps walking. Because he’s a fucking idiot.  
Steve notices him first, and looks briefly pained before his features drop into something more neutral and he gives Bucky a nod. Bucky’s mouth twists in a way that could be mistaken for a smile, and Steve looks away, so Bucky joins Wanda, positioning himself between her and Alexander.  
Maria waves them to the door, and Bucky hesitates.  
“Wait a minute, where’s Bruce?”  
Maria holds her clipboard to her chest. “He quit.”  
Bucky stares at Maria, briefly convinced he misheard her, and Wanda tucks herself against his side.  
“What d’you mean, quit?” she snaps.  
Maria shrugs. “He quit.”  
“What does that mean for the competition,” Alexander interrupts, much to Maria's annoyance. “Will there still be an elimination tomorrow?”  
She glowers at Alexander. “Yes, there will be an elimination tomorrow as usual. Next weekend will be the final.”  
No one speaks, shocked into silence, and Maria snorts and leads the way to the restaurant. 

Dinner is a quiet, uncomfortable affair, the four of them sat around a small table in the corner of the restaurant. Bucky sneaks glances at Steve, picking listlessly at his meal. He looks washed out and exhausted, and it makes something sharp and painful lodge in the back of Bucky’s throat.  
The meal seems to take forever, and it’s a relief to finish up and start the walk back to the hotel. Bucky gives Wanda a squeeze on the arm and tells her he’ll catch up. She glances at Steve walking along the footpath behind them and frowns.  
“Tata…” she warns.  
“I gotta warn him,” Bucky tells her softly. It’s been weighing on him all week, what T’Challa told him about Alexander, and he can’t keep it from Steve, even after everything that’s happened between them, they guy deserves to know.  
“ _Chceš ho zpátky_?” Wanda wraps her fingers around his wrist and keeps walking, pulling him along with her.  
Bucky shakes his head “It’s not about that. You know it’s not.” He sighs, loosening himself from her grasp. “He made his choice, I gotta respect that. But I’m not gonna let Alexander ruin his chances. Or yours.”  
“And what about your chances?” Wanda hisses.  
Bucky pulls her into his arms. “I don’t need it. I got you.”  
She presses her face to his chest, the string of insults she throws at him muffled against his shirt. He rests his hand on the back of her head, letting go when she pushes away and starts walking on ahead.  
Steve has his eyes fixed to the path beneath his feet, and doesn’t notice he has company until Bucky speaks.  
“Hey, Steve.”  
Steve flinches, almost imperceptibly. “Hey, Buck,” he says warily.  
“It’s Alexander,” Bucky says quickly.  
Steve understands what he’s talking about immediately. “I knew it,” he mutters.  
“T’Challa warned me. So I’m warning you. Don’t leave anything unattended, check your oven. If you need to put something in the fridge you come use mine.”  
“Bucky...” Steve says quietly.  
Bucky shakes his head, raising a hand as if he could physically stop Steve from being, well, _Steve_. “I know you don’t want anything to do with me, but I’m not having him wreck your chances.”  
“That’s not true, Buck,” Steve’s voice is barely audible.  
“Don’t ask me to stop caring, Steve,” he says finally. “I won’t.”  
Steve gives him a small, lopsided smile. “I know.”  
Bucky swallows down all the stupid, useless words crowding in his throat and turns away, walking along the path to the hotel and Wanda, waiting for him in the doorway.

Bucky wakes, flinging himself up and gasping for breath. The nightmare hadn’t even been that bad, just disjointed sounds and images. He takes a moment to catch his breath, taking slow, measured breaths before climbing out of bed. He scrubs his hands through his hair. Self care, he reminds himself, and goes through his physio routine. He takes a long, hot shower and dries himself off, shaving and brushing his teeth before getting dressed. He opens the curtains, then makes himself tea with the mini kettle and individual packets of teabags and plastic-tasting milk, and sits in one of the chintzy, uncomfortable armchairs they insist on cluttering the rooms with. He drinks his tea and stares out the window at the lightening sky. Heavy clouds, washed in shades of grey, hang overhead. It’s going to be a long day.

He locks up his room and walks down to the dining room. It’s still early, and the room is empty but for the hotel staff member laying out the breakfast pastries and thermos jugs of coffee. She gives Bucky a warm smile as she sets out the plates and cups from her trolley, and Bucky manages one in return, fumbling around her as she insists on pouring him coffee and foisting a plate of pastries on him. He picks a table in the corner and sits down, watching the hotel worker pushing her trolley away and trying to remember her name.  
He eats his pastry slowly and misses Bruce’s company.  
Alexander enters the room after a short while, newspaper tucked under his arm. He glances around and notices Bucky with an unapologetic grimace.  
“Does it feel good to still be here,” he ponders out loud. “When better people have left?”  
Bucky snorts. “Could ask you the same thing.”  
Alexander glowers at him, pouring himself a cup of coffee before taking a seat at the far end of the room and unfolding his newspaper. Bucky ignores him, drinking coffee until Wanda arrives. She hesitates in the doorway before coming to sit with Bucky.  
“You alright?” Bucky asks quietly.  
She nods. “I just forgot Bruce wasn’t here,” she says in a small voice.  
Bucky reaches across the table and covers her hand with his own. “We’ll see him soon.”  
He pushes his plate of pastries at her until she picks up a brioche and nibbles at it.  
Steve doesn’t show up for breakfast, and Bucky has no idea how he’d react to Bucky giving him some wrapped in a napkin like he used to. He glances at Wanda, but she would probably beat him up if he mentioned it. She catches him watching and he gives her the best smile he can muster.  
“C’mon, baking.”

The four of them are ordered into a single taxi, which is one of the more uncomfortable experiences Bucky has gone through. Steve sits opposite him, giving him an awkward, sad smile whenever their eyes meet, until Bucky leans his head against the window, screws his eyes shut and pretends to be asleep.  
Phil meets them at the estate and leads the way to the Baking Marquee. They go to their counters, Wanda behind him, Steve to his right. Bucky doesn’t like the set up, having his back to Alexander, but there’s not much to be done so he busies himself getting set up for the day's challenges.  
The hosts arrive, walking around the room and greeting the contestants. Natasha takes a long hard look at Bucky before deciding that he’s alright and moving on.  
There judges arrive soon after, Nick in his customary leathers and Peggy in a chic skirt and white shirt. Phil moves everyone into position and the cameras start rolling.  
Clint welcomes everyone to the tent, taking a moment to explain that Bruce has left the competition due to medical reasons, but there will be an elimination at the end of the weekend before the finals next weekend. He finishes by reminding them that the challenge for the round is Patisserie. Natasha follows with the first challenge of the day, twenty four eclairs - two flavours, twelve of each.  
Nick adds that he expects the choux pastry to be light and crisp, the bakes uniform and perfectly finished. Peggy wishes them all good luck, and the challenge begins.

Bucky takes a few deep breaths and gets to work. He puts milk, butter, sugar, water and a pinch of salt into a saucepan, and puts it on a medium heat. While he waits for the butter to melt he weighs out his flour and sifts it, tipping it into the saucepan and removing it from the heat, stirring furiously. He hates making choux pastry, the whole idea of chucking flour into hot liquid seems like madness. He does like eating the results, though. He keeps stirring, slightly less panicked when it all comes together to form a smooth paste. He adds the eggs, one at a time, trying not to think about scrambled eggs as he stirs, the paste thickening and pulling away from the sides of the pan.  
He sets the pan to one side and preheats the oven, getting out a couple of baking trays and lining them with parchment before filling a piping bag with half of the choux pastry. He pipes lines of pastry, wetting his finger and flattening the little quiff of piped dough at the ends, before putting the tray in the oven.  
He adds almond essence to the rest of the mix before spooning it into a piping bag and going through the process again and putting them in the oven. He sets a timer for twenty five minutes, and starts making the creme patissiere.  
He measures milk into a saucepan and sets it on a medium heat before breaking eggs into a bowl and adding sugar. He whisks while he waits for the milk to come to a simmer, adding cornflour when the eggs are pale in colour. He takes the pan off the heat and leaves it to stand for a minute before slowly pouring half of it into the egg mixture and stirring rapidly. He pours the egg mix into the saucepan with the remaining milk and whisks as fast as he can, quietly begging it to not scramble or curdle or do anything terrible to him. He puts the pan back on the heat and brings it to the boil, still whisking, counting to sixty before taking it off the heat again.  
It doesn’t look curdled, so he transfers it to a bowl and puts it in the fridge to chill.  
He checks on the eclairs in the oven. The first lot look ready to come out, so he pulls out the baking tray with his prosthetic and transfers the pastries to a cooling rack. He moves the rack to one side, making a note on a scrap of parchment which ones they are before setting up the counter for the second lot. After a minute he brings out the second lot of eclairs, spreading them out on a cooling rack and making another note of which ones they are.

He sets two pans of water simmering with a heatproof bowl on top of each and is breaking dark chocolate into one bowl and white chocolate into the other when Nick and Peggy arrive.  
“Good morning, Bucky,” Peggy says cheerfully. Bucky jolts, but manages not to yell.  
“Peggs, don’t sneak up on a guy with PTSD,” he says with a breathless smile.  
Peggy gives him an apologetic look that quickly morphs into a grin. “But then I wouldn’t hear you squeal.”  
Bucky plasters an indignant look on his face. “I do not squeal.”  
“What are you making for us today,” Nick butts in. They both glare at him.  
“Classic. Creme patisserie filling and a chocolate topping.”  
Nick nods, “Nowhere to hide, though.”  
“Maybe I don’t need to hide,” Bucky bares his teeth. “And white chocolate cherry.”  
“Sounds delicious,” Peggy says cheerfully, and pulls Nick to the next table.  
Bucky shakes himself off and adds cream to his chocolate, stirring each bowl until the contents have melted and turning off the heat.  
He fetches the creme patisserie from the fridge and checks the temperature before filling a piping bag with half the mixture, and carefully filling the twelve classic eclairs. He de-stones tart black cherries and whizzes them into a puree in a blender. He decides against adding any sugar and mixes it into the remaining pastry cream, scooping it into a piping bag and filling the second lots of eclairs.  
He uses a teaspoon to apply the dark chocolate ganache to the classic eclairs, spreading it evenly in a stripe along the top of the pastries. He finely chops some glace cherries and sets to one side before he pours the white chocolate ganache into a piping bag and drizzles over the eclairs in a swift zig zag pattern. He nods to himself. He’s done it.

Bucky takes a quick look around the room. Wanda has finished her eclairs and is arranging them in a display. Steve is adding a few finishing touches to his eclairs. Bucky doesn’t really care what Alexander is doing.  
He arranges the eclairs on a dish, fussing over the finish, when Natasha calls time.  
Phil gets everyone into position so the cameras can get footage of each of them with their bakes before the judging begins.

The judges approach Wanda’s counter first. Her first eclair is lemon and raspberry. Peggy loves the raspberry ripple cream filling and the white chocolate and lemon topping. Nick agrees that the lemon cuts through the richness of the filling. Wanda’s second offering is a _Saint Honoré_ eclair, the choux pastry made with muscovado sugar, split open and filled with caramel and cream with a spun sugar topping. Peggy finds it delightful, almost too pretty to eat. Nick has no qualms with chopping up the beautiful presentation, and calls it exceptional.  
Bucky is next with his two varieties. Peggy commends him for sticking with the classic eclair recipe, noting that it’s a classic for a good reason. Nick calls it a good effort. Clint manages to fit one in his mouth in a single go, which Bucky really didn’t need to see. The white chocolate and cherry eclair gets favourable reviews from Peggy and Natasha, who like the sharpness of the cherries. Nick finds them too cloying.  
Alexander is next. Peggy finds his salted butter caramel eclairs a little too sweet, but the choux pastry flawless. Nick complains that he can’t taste the salt. His second eclair is filled with a hazelnut mousse and topped with chocolate and caramelised hazelnuts. Peggy can’t fault it, but doesn’t seem terribly impressed. Clint and Natasha decline any offers to try either eclair.  
Steve is last. His chocolate and peanut eclair goes down well with Peggy, who loves the crunch of peanut brittle in the creme patisserie filling. Nick calls it too rich. The lemon and pistachio eclair goes down well with both judges, Peggy loving the refreshing flavour and vibrant colour. Clint eats three of the chocolate peanut eclairs in quick succession while they discuss the bakes, and looks a little queasy by the time Phil declares the judging over and sends them off to get lunch.

Lunch is eaten in silence, and Bucky has a horrible moment of nostalgia for the weeks prior, when they had laughed and bickered and shared recipes. He forks pasta into his mouth, chewing mechanically, and by the time his plate is empty he can’t remember what he ate.  
Phil arrives to take Wanda off for an interview, and Alexander leaves the table without a word. Bucky keeps his head down, but doesn’t miss the tightness in Steve’s shoulders, or the flat, miserable line of his mouth.  
“How you holding up?” he asks quietly, half expecting to be met with silence.  
“Not great,” Steve answers, voice low.  
Bucky feels a pain, heavy and dull, under his breastbone and reaches his hand across the table. He doesn’t meet Steve’s eye, just reaches out into the space between them, palm upwards, silver fingers curling. After a long moment the prosthetic registers _heat_ and _pressure_ , and he clasps his fingers around Steve’s outstretched hand.  
“It’s okay,” he insists. “You’ll be okay.”  
Steve sniffs. “Stop being so nice.”  
Bucky smiles. “You’re gonna be okay, but you’re still an asshole. That better?”  
Steve lets out an odd, choked laugh. “Much.”  
Phil reappears, and tells them that everything’s ready for the technical challenge. Steve clears his throat and untangles their fingers, and they walk silently back to the Marquee.

The contestants take their places at their counters, waiting while the hosts and judges position themselves at the front of the Marquee and Phil gets worked up about the camera positions.  
Natasha introduces the Technical Challenge, describing how it’s an opportunity for the contestants to show their baking knowledge and experience when given the most basic instructions.  
Nick introduces the challenge with the kind of undisguised delight that sets everyone on edge. Palmiers, he tells them. Thirty six, all identical in size, shape and colour. Peggy wishes them all good luck before Clint adds that the challenge is judged blind, and sends the judges out of the tent. They are given their time limit and told to get started.

Bucky glances around him. Wanda is skimming her instructions while weighing out her flour. Steve is leaning against the counter, reading through his own instruction sheet. Bucky looks down at the sheet in front of him. Make puff pastry, it says. Well, he can do that at least.  
He weighs out flour and butter into a large bowl and rubs them together to form fine breadcrumbs, then slowly adds cold water, a little at a time, until he has a dough. He wraps it up in clingfilm and marks it with a B before taking it to the fridge. There is a block of wrapped dough already in there, marked with an S and he feels a surge of relief. His fridge is on the left side of his counter, there’s no way Alexander can get to it without Bucky noticing, making it the safest place for Steve to chill his pastry.  
Bucky sets his timer for twenty minutes, and starts prepping for the next stage. He takes a block of butter and places it between two sheets of baking paper, tapping and pressing with a rolling pin until he has a flat rectangle of butter that goes into the fridge to chill.  
He clears down the counter and dredges it with flour before getting his dough from the fridge and rolling it into a large rectangle. He fetches his sheet of chilled butter and positions it so it covers two thirds of the dough, and brings the edges around to cover the butter, folding and sealing the edges with the rolling pin before rolling it out and folding it again. He seals the edges with the rolling pin again, wraps it in plastic and marks it before putting it back in the fridge, setting his timer for twenty minutes.  
When the time is up, he rolls and folds, rolls and folds, sealing the edges and putting it back in the fridge. He washes his hands and goes through his physio routine, doing a few extra rotator cuff exercises until the tightness in his shoulder eases. He can feel Steve watching him, and takes a peculiar sort of comfort in his concern.  
He does another set of rolling and folding, rolling and folding, wrapping the pastry back up and returning it to the fridge. he wonders how anyone can bother going through all the business of making puff pastry when you can buy perfectly good stuff already made, but doesn’t say it out loud because Wanda will come over and kick him.

He does his last set of rolling out and folding, putting the pastry back in the fridge while he preheats the oven and rereads the next set of instructions. Shape into pigs ears. He frowns at the instructions, he has no idea what a pig's ear is supposed to look like. He is debating going over to Wanda’s counter and seeing how she’s doing it when he hears Steve pointedly clear his throat. Bucky looks over and sees Steve scatter sugar over his dough before rolling the long edge into the middle of his sheet of dough and repeating the process on the other side, so the two rolled edges are touching. He slices the end of the roll and holds it up. It looks like something between a pair of glasses and a squashed heart.  
Bucky nods, giving Steve a small smile before sprinkling sugar over his pastry and rolling it up. He gets a sharp knife and cuts thin slices off his roll, checking the width with a ruler, and feeling faintly ridiculous for doing so, before carefully arranging each one on a baking tray. He sets the timer for ten minutes and puts the first tray in the oven before cutting palmiers and filling the next tray.  
Making thirty six palmiers wasn’t a problem, but making them identical, well, that was harder, ten seconds too long in the oven and they’d be too dark, take them out too soon and they’re underbaked. He sits in front of the oven, watching through the tinted glass. There are two shelves in the oven, but with the slight variation in temperature between them, he can’t really risk using both.  
At ten minutes the timer goes off. At eleven minutes he takes the first tray out, sets the timer for eleven minutes and puts the second tray in, moving the hot palmiers to a cooling rack and slicing the rest of the roll of pastry. He glances around the room, see’s Wanda sat on the floor in front of her oven, her chin resting on her knees. Steve is pulling a tray out of the oven and carefully transferring his bakes to a cooling rack.  
It’s strange and sad to miss someone standing only a few steps away, but Bucky does. He shakes his shoulders, trying to loosen them up, and gets back to work.

The last tray goes into the oven, and Bucky moves the latest batch of palmiers onto the cooling rack. They look alright, a little misshapen in places where the scrolls have unfurled in the oven. The colour could be better, but could be a lot worse too. He sits on the floor, resting his forearms on his bent knees, watching the oven door as the pastry slowly bakes and doesn’t think about things.  
“Penny for your thoughts, Barnes.”  
He flinches, then pushes his hair out of his eyes and gives Natasha his best glower. It doesn’t seem to work on her, though.  
“Just… tired, I guess,” he says finally.  
She makes a sympathetic noise and pats him on the shoulder before leaving him in peace, He opens the oven door and pulls out the last tray. The pastries are golden and risen, crusted with sugar.  
He transfers them to a cooling rack and cleans up, wiping down the counters and arranges the palmiers on a board when Clint calls out that they have a minute left. He is still poking at them when Natasha calls that time is up.  
They take their bakes down to the red checked cloth covered table at the front of the Marquee, behind the photos set out for them, facing away from the judges. They take their places on the row of stools set out for them. Bucky sits at the far end, Wanda beside him, wrapping her long fingers around his wrist and squeezing.

Nick and Peggy return to the tent, and the judging begins.  
Nick studies the pastries and comments on how different they all are, while Peggy adds how much she’s looking forward to trying them.  
They cut into Steve’s palmiers first, noting that they are dry and crisp, though Nick finds them too sweet. Alexander’s are tasted next, and Nick remarks that they are underbaked and too soft. Peggy agrees with his assessment, but adds that they are well formed. Bucky follows, the judges finding his bakes uniform in colour, though Nick adds that the shaping is a little uneven. Wanda is last, and it’s no shock that her bake is perfect.  
The judges rank the palmiers from worst to best. Alexander in last place, much to his displeasure, followed by Bucky, then Steve, and in first place Wanda.  
Peggy makes a point of congratulating her, and calling her exceptional, while Wanda blushes and hides her face in Bucky’s shoulder.  
“ _Fata mea genială_ ,” he murmurs into her long red hair.

Phil manages to corner Bucky while they’re finishing up with filming, and takes him outside with a cameraman. After some consideration, he directs him to stand by the walled garden, but complains every time Bucky leans back against the cool grey stones.  
Bucky doesn’t try to argue, he’s too damned tired.

_He scratches at his scalp, running his finger through his hair absently.  
“Semi-final,” he shakes his head. “What am I doing here?”  
He tilts his head at a question asked off camera. “Am I going to win?” he snorts. “Of course not!” He bites his lip. “I never came here to win or be the best. I just…” he twists his mouth and raises his eyebrows at the camera. “I don’t know. None of really know, we’re just fumbling along, trying to figure it out.”_

Phil lets him go, and he walks down to the estate entrance where the taxi is waiting, to find Steve and Wanda in the middle of an argument. They are speaking in hushed voices, Steve’s arms folded and his head bowed while Wanda hisses at him under her breath. To a casual observer they look like they’re just talking, but Wanda’s accent has thickened, her speech littered with Sokovian a the way Bucky knows as angry and spoiling for a fight. Steve’s posture is hunched, defeated. He makes no attempt to fight back.  
“Wanda,” Bucky says softly. They freeze, and Wanda gives him a wary look. “ _Nech ho být_.”  
Bucky wraps an arm around her waist. “I know you mean well, but you need to stop,” he says quietly, his mouth to her ear.  
She calls him something unsavoury, and stalks off to wait for the taxi. Bucky sighs and scrubs his hand across his face.  
“I’m sorry,” he looks at Steve, still hunched up. “Are you okay?”  
Steve utters a startled laugh, then nods his head. “It needed to be said.”  
Bucky looks doubtful, but doesn’t argue. “You did good today. You get any trouble?”  
For a moment Steve gives him an incredulous look, then ducks his head down again.  
“Yeah, I’m okay.”  
Bucky looks over at where Wanda is waiting. “Eyes open, tomorrow. Right?”  
“Right,” Steve manages a smile. “Thank you, Bucky.”

The taxi arrives and they climb in, travelling back to the hotel in silence. No one particularly wants to have dinner together, so they retreat to their rooms. Wanda spends far too long staring at Bucky, as if she’s reading his thoughts. It’s downright unsettling. She finally kisses him goodnight and threatens to punch him in the balls if he doesn’t eat. Bucky doesn’t doubt that she would find out if he didn’t obey her orders, so when he gets to his room he orders a chicken sandwich and has a hot shower while he waits for it to be brought up.  
He eats his sandwich and takes his painkillers, going through his physio while he waits for them to kick in. He crawls under the covers and stares at the ceiling for a long time, carefully thinking about nothing, before he falls asleep.

The alarm wakes him and he sits up, disoriented for a moment until he remembers where he is. He groans and climbs out of bed, stumbling into the bathroom to brush his teeth and shave. He gets dressed and packs up his bag, checking the room to make sure he hasn’t left anything lying around. He tugs on his shoes and goes out to the corridor, locking the door behind him and heading downstairs to drop off his bag and hand his key into reception.  
There’s no one in the dining room, so he pours himself a cup of coffee and stares at the range of pastries before picking up a cherry Danish and taking it to one of the tables. He sits and picks at his pastry, ignoring Alexander when he comes in and helps himself to muesli. Wanda arrives a short while later and coerces Bucky into splitting an almond croissant with her. There is no sign of Steve, and when it’s time to meet Maria in the lobby, Bucky wraps up a bagel in a napkin to give to him. If he doesn’t want it, he doesn’t have to take it, Bucky reasons to himself.  
Maria herds the four contestants into the waiting taxi, and Bucky quietly hands over the wrapped bagel.  
“It’s a wonder you’re not skin and bones,” he mutters as Steve accepts them, an odd look on his face, vulnerable and sweet, as he does so.  
They travel to the Marquee in silence but for the sound of Steve eating his breakfast, tearing the bagel into little pieces and chewing them with a kind of reverence at odds for a piece of bread.

Phil meets them at the Estate and leads the way to the Baking Marquee. They go to their counters and check that they have all they need for the day's baking.  
Bucky watches Wanda as she gets set up for the challenge, her movement smooth and focused. Steve is on edge, clumsy and disorganised, knocking jars over and sending pans crashing to the floor. Bucky goes over and helps him pick up, half expecting to get an earful for his efforts. Instead Steve gives him an embarrassed little grimace of a smile.  
“Hey,” Bucky soothes. “You okay?”  
Steve shakes his head dumbly, stacking his baking sheets up on the counter, and doesn’t argue when Bucky fetches a stool for him to sit on.  
“C’mon, sit down before you fall down, I’ll make you some tea,” he orders, ignoring Steve's protests that he’s fine. He fills the kettle and makes a chamomile for Steve, a green tea for Wanda, and after a moment's consideration, he makes some coffee for himself. He takes Wanda her tea, and lets her give him a warning look, but he’s spared a lecture, at least for now.  
He takes the chamomile over to Steve. “Here, drink this. Try not to sabotage yourself, the asshole doesn’t need any help.”  
Steve murmurs a soft sound of gratitude as he takes the tea.  
“You need anything you shout, alright?”  
Steve shakes his head. “You don’t have to do this, Buck.”  
Bucky wishes, for a moment, that he could wrap his arm around Steve’s shoulder and tell him things will be okay. Instead he raps his knuckles on the counter and does his best to smile. “Yes I do.”

Natasha and Clint arrive, and walk around the room saying good morning to everyone. Natasha parks herself at Bucky’s counter and watches him silently while he reads through his recipes and double checks his timing.  
“I’m fine, Nat,” he says, keeping his eyes fixed on the page in front of him. She makes an unconvinced noise, but leaves him to get on with it.  
The judges arrive, and Phil fusses over the camera positions, stopping short of telling Nick to move into a position with better lighting.  
Natasha introduces the Showstopper Challenge, telling the cameras how it’s a chance for the bakers to show off their skills and create something decadent and impressive. Nick announces the challenge itself; Afternoon Tea. He goes on to explain that they would like thirty six items of sweet patisserie, twelve made with enriched dough, twelve with pastry and twelve macarons. He adds that he expects perfection in every single one. Peggy wishes them good luck, and the challenge begins.

Bucky starts on the pastry, working quickly to bring together the flour and butter before wrapping it up in clingfilm and putting it in the fridge to chill. He makes the dough next, ignoring the twinge in his shoulder as he wraps it up and marks it with his initials. He puts it in the fridge, noticing that Steve has put a plastic wrapped block of pastry in there too, and lets himself feel relieved. That’s one less thing to worry about.  
Bucky washes his hands and wipes down the counter before getting to work on his macarons. He hears Steve clear his throat and looks up to see Nick and Peggy coming his way.  
“Good morning, Bucky,” Peggy leans on the counter. “What are you making for us today?”  
“ _Joulutorttu_ ,” Bucky answers, giving Nick a smirk. “ _Cornulețe_ , and honey macarons.”  
“Cornulețe,” Peggy says carefully, and Bucky grins at her.  
“Desăvârşit” he says proudly. “They’re enriched dough crescents filled with walnuts.”  
“Ooh lovely! And the jolulutortu?”  
It’s close enough, and bless her, she’s trying, so Bucky doesn’t correct her. “Plum jam filled pastries,” he explains, setting up the freestanding mixer and adding icing sugar, ground almonds and egg whites to the bowl before turning it on. Peggy takes the hint as the electric motor starts up and wishes him good luck, leading Nick away before he can say something offensive.  
Bucky puts water, honey and sugar in a pan and sets it on the stove, propping a cooking thermometer in it, and fetches his pastry from the fridge. He takes a packet of butter and flattens it out into a rectangle between two sheets of baking paper before he rolls the dough out on the counter, setting the sheet of butter on the dough and folding around it. He rolls out the dough and folds it again, sealing down the edges, keeping half an eye on the water temperature in the pan, watching it slowly creep up.  
He whisks up more egg whites in a bowl until they form stiff peaks. The sugar syrup is up to temperature, so he pours it slowly into his bowl of egg whites, whisking thoroughly until the mixture is stiff and glossy. He turns off the mixer and pulls out the bowl, checking that it’s well incorporated before he tips the meringue mix in and stirs it all together.  
He arranges baking paper on a couple of cookie sheets and spoons the paste into a bag, piping out flat circles on the tray, and flattens down the little tip of dough the bag has left on the top of each macaron with a wet finger. He taps the tray on the counter a couple of times and sprinkles with flaked almond before putting to one side and cleaning up.

He takes out his pastry and goes through another round of rolling and folding, rolling and folding before sealing up the edges and putting it back in the fridge. He checks the time and puts his macarons in the oven, setting the timer for fifteen minutes and getting out a chopping board. He slices up plums and puts the plums in a pan, along with a little less than equal parts sugar, and sets it on a low heat.  
There are still a few minutes left on the macarons, so Bucky takes a moment to stretch and look around the room. Wanda is piping out choux pastry, completely in control of her piping bag. Alexander is looking restless, eyes flicking around the room, which sets Bucky’s teeth on edge. Steve is rolling out his enriched dough and spreading it with softened butter. Bucky watches as Alexander, looking nonchalant, walks over to one of the fridges, _Steve’s fridge_ , and looks inside. Alexander closes the door again, looking irritated, and goes back to his counter. Steve doesn’t look up from scattering brown sugar over his dough, and Bucky wonders if he even noticed what just happened. From a quick look around the room, it doesn’t look like anyone else has either.  
His timer goes off, and he crouches down in front of his oven to check on his macarons. They look pretty good, considering. He gives them another minute, checking on his jam and deciding it’s done, pouring it into a bowl and putting it to one side to cool down.  
He takes the macarons out of the oven and arranges them on a baking tray, putting it out of the way while he gets to work on the cornulețe.

He spreads walnuts on a baking tray and puts the in the oven for a couple of minutes, setting up the food processor and filling it with the hot, toasted nuts, butter and sugar. He blends it into a coarse paste and tips into a bowl before fetching his enriched dough from the fridge. He glances over at Steve, who is putting his dough in the proving drawer under his oven. He looks stressed, but doesn’t seem to be panicking.  
Bucky rolls out his dough, cutting it into elongated triangles. He piles walnut mix at the wide end and rolls each piece up tightly before placing it on a baking tray. His shoulder aches, but he puts it to the back of his mind, finishing up the last few rolls and arranging them on the tray, setting the timer and putting them in the proving drawer.  
He washes his hands and cleans down the counter, fetching his pastry from the fridge and quickly checking how everyone in the room is doing. Wanda is making macarons, dying her almond paste a vivid shade of scarlet. Steve is doing something complicated with pastry, lost in his own head.  
Alexander is walking around Steve’s counter, moving quickly and confidently. How many times has he done this, sauntered over to someone else’s counter like he belongs there and fucked with their chances. Bucky doesn’t think about it, just picks up the paring knife he’d been using to chop plums and throws it across the room. It lands with a heavy thud, the tip buried in the stained pine counter in front of Alexander's outstretched hand.  
Steve looks up at the sound, his eyes pausing on the handle of the knife, wobbling slightly from the force of the impact, before taking in Alexander, frozen in place, his hand reaching out for the open bottle of vanilla extract on the counter.  
“Whoops!” Bucky calls out. “Butterfingers.”  
“You need something?” Steve asks Alexander.  
He looks uncomfortable. “Vanilla,” he says finally. “Just a drop.”  
Steve pulls the knife out of the countertop. “I’m sure Phil can get you some,” he says, laying the knife down, keeping his eyes fixed on Alexander. He nods and takes a step back, opening his mouth to speak before thinking better of it and stalking back to his counter. 

Bucky rolls out his pastry and fetches a fresh knife, cutting the dough into equal sized squares.  
“You alright there, Barnes?” Natasha calls, wandering over to his counter.  
Bucky manages to look sheepish. “Yeah. Slippery fingers.”  
She doesn’t look convinced, watching as he spoons a blob of plum jam onto each pastry square. He picks up a misshapen macaron and hands it over, trying not to smile as she pops it into her mouth.  
“Mmmpf. Honey?” Bucky nods, folding his pastry into a pinwheel. “S’good.”  
He snorts. “I’ll have to take your word for it, not a fan myself.”  
Natasha straightens up. “Seriously? Who doesn’t like macarons?”  
“They look good, yeah. But they taste kind of stale, if you ask me.”  
Natasha is about to launch into a defense of macarons when there’s a crash from Steve’s counter. Bucky snaps upright and swears under his breath.  
The tray of chocolate macarons that Steve had put on the side of the counter to rest is overturned on the floor. Alexander, standing by Steve’s counter, doing a poor impression of looking surprised.  
“Oops,” he says flatly, before walking back to his own table.  
Steve swears and takes a step after him, and Bucky dashes over to his side, grabbing him by the elbows.  
“What the fuck!” Steve shouts after Alexander, who smirks at him before bending down to check his oven.  
“Shh, settle down,” Bucky murmurs.  
“It wasn’t on the edge, he did it deliberately,” Steve waves to the overturned tray, the macarons scattered across the floor.  
“I know, I know,” Bucky soothes. “C’mon, we’ll make some more.”  
Steve screws his eyes shut, looking visibly pained. “There isn’t time.”  
Bucky looks around them. Clint is gripping the edge of Steve’s counter, looking furious. Natasha and Wanda are picking the macarons off the floor and putting them in the bin.  
“Can we get a time check, Clint?” Bucky asks, rubbing his hands up and down Steve’s arms.  
Clint checks his watch. “Fifty two minutes.”  
“Not enough time,” Steve mutters disconsolately.  
“Sure it is,” Bucky turns to the counter. “Where’s the recipe? Is this it?” Steve nods dumbly as Bucky scans the sheet of chocolate stained paper.  
“Alright then, Clint, I need eggs, ground almonds and icing sugar.”  
Clint nods, “Got it.”  
“Nat, I need a clean saucepan and bowl for the mixer.”  
“I’m on it,” Natasha hurries over to a spare counter and starts searching through the cupboards.  
Bucky sees Wanda waiting for instruction. “Get back to your baking, kid. Shoo!”  
He flaps his hand at her, and she goes back to her counter to check her timers.

“Bucky there’s no point, it’s over. I’m finished,” Steve says miserably.  
Bucky tuts at him, muttering a thanks to Clint as he brings over fresh ingredients. Natasha dumps the clean utensils he asked for on the countertop and starts taking away the used ones.  
“Almond paste, now,” Bucky orders, measuring water and sugar into the saucepan.  
Steve starts separating eggs, weighing the whites into a bowl. “It’s too late,” he repeats.  
Bucky slams the saucepan on the stove. “No it isn’t.” He sighs. “You are going to make macarons, Steve. You’re going to make the best fucking macarons. You’re going to make it to the final, and you’re going to kick Alexander’s wrinkled ass. Understood?”  
Steve looks down at his bowl of egg whites and rubs at his eyes with his knuckles.  
Bucky pats him on the shoulder. “Don’t cry in the macarons, Steve.”  
Steve snorts and nods, tipping the egg whites into the mixer and adding the rest of the ingredients. Bucky fetches the sugar thermometer and props it in the saucepan, calling out to Wanda to throw him a clean bowl. She picks a stainless steel one up from her counter and frisbees it over to him, grinning as Bucky snatches it out of the air and starts cracking eggs into it.  
Steve stares at him for a moment, an unreadable look crossing his features, and seems to shake it off, fetching his chilled pastries from the fridge and sliding them into the oven.  
“Tata, your pastries look like swastikas,” Wanda calls out.  
Bucky looks up from whisking eggs whites. “What?”  
She cuts into the dough with a sharp knife. “Never mind, I fix it. They need an egg wash before going in?”  
Bucky nods, and watches as Wanda refolds his pastries and washes them with egg, putting them in the oven and setting a timer. “Twelve minutes,” she calls out before going back to her counter.  
Bucky hands the bowl of whisked egg white to Steve and takes the saucepan of sugar syrup off the heat, pouring in a steady stream into the eggs while he whisks. He fetches a clean tray and sheet of parchment to pipe the macarons on to, murmuring thanks to Wanda as she takes his pastries out of his oven and puts them on a cooling rack before getting back to her own bakes. He takes Steve’s pastries out of the oven when the timer goes off, transferring them to a wire rack while Steve spoons macaron mix into a piping bag and squeezes perfect little circles on to the lined baking tray Bucky sets out for him.

Bucky reads through Steve’s to-do list. There’s still lemon icing to make, as well as the ganache filling for the macarons. He fetches a couple of lemons, cuts them in half and squeezes out the juice.  
“Buck, it’s alright. I’ve got it from here,” Steve says quietly, taking the lemon out of his hand and setting it on the counter. “Get back to your bake.”  
Bucky shakes his head. “Not ‘till you’re done.”  
“You’ll lose,” Steve sounds exasperated, but the smile doesn’t leave his lips.  
“Don’t care,” Bucky answers. “Never did. And I’ll walk out before I see you lose to that piece of shit,” Bucky glares across the Marquee at Alexander.  
“You mean that?” Steve looks at him fondly. “You actually mean that.”  
Bucky shrugs. “Yeah. It’s just a baking competition, Steve. You think anyone’s going to remember who we are a year from now?”  
Steve looks at him oddly, then suddenly laughs. “Just a cooking show.”  
Steve lifts up his hand and brushes his thumb across Bucky’s jaw, rubbing a smudge of cocoa powder off his cheek. Then he leans forward and presses their lips together.  
It lasts less than a second, the briefest touch, before he pulls back, his thumb stroking Bucky’s cheek.  
“We’re being filmed,” Bucky murmurs hesitantly.  
“Yeah,” Steve breathes. “You okay with that?”  
Bucky nods, and Steve leans into him, brushing his nose against Bucky’s cheek, trailing up to his nose before Bucky reaches up and crushes their mouths together. Steve gasps against his lips and Bucky flicks his tongue between his teeth, a brief touch to inside Steve’s mouth before withdrawing.  
Steve swallows, taking a breath before opening his eyes, and presses a last few kisses to the corner of Bucky's mouth, like ellipses, like a promise. Clint wolf-whistles, and Bucky chuckles, pressing his face to Steve’s shoulder.  
Steve wraps arms around him, hiding his smile in Bucky’s hair, trying not to yelp when Bucky sees a camera pointed at them and pats him on the backside.  
“Alright,” he grumbles, pushing Bucky away and trying to hide his blush. “Go, finish your bake. We’ll talk later?”  
Bucky pinches his ass, making Steve splutter and slap his hand away. His heart thumps, painful and sweet, with how much he has missed this, missed _them_.

Steve puts his macarons in to bake and makes his ganache while Bucky takes his cornulețe out of the proving drawer and puts them in the oven. He sets a timer and checks over what Wanda has done in his absence. The Joulutorttu are browned and well risen, and instead of the pinwheel design Wanda has shaped them into a four pointed crown with a four leaf flower design in the centre. He puts the last of his plum jam in a pan and sets it on a low heat, and whips cream to fill him macarons, ribboning honey through the cream before transferring it to a piping bag. He pipes and fills each macaron, stacking them carefully as he goes and ignoring Natasha when she comes over to his counter to smirk. He has a few macarons spare, so he pushes one across the counter as an offering.  
Bucky checks on the cornulețe and takes them out of the oven. They look pretty good, and he puts them aside to cool while he brushes the pastries with warm jam, giving them a glossy finish. Natasha calls out that there are five minutes remaining and Bucky checks up on Steve. He’s filling his macarons, Wanda at his side carefully pressing the meringue shells together and arranging them in a display box. For a moment he finds it hard to breathe.  
He arranges the rest of the bakes on his board and dusts icing sugar over the top. Instead of spending his last minute fussing over the display he goes over to Steve’s counter and hooks his chin over Wanda’s shoulder.  
“Păpuşă,” he whispers in her ear. She lightly smacks him on the arm and calls him ‘ _citový_ ’. She has a point, so he doesn’t argue, just grabs Steve as he’s passing and pulls him in as well.  
“ _Vă iubesc_ ,” he tells them both.  
Clint calls time, and Bucky feels Steve go limp, leaning into him and curling a hand in his hair. Wanda rests her head on Bucky’s other shoulder, patting Steve on the back. She pulls back first, and calls them both insufferable with a small, proud look.

The camera crews get shots of each baker with their finished pieces, and Phil gets everyone in place for the judging.  
Bucky is called to the front first. Peggy loves the cornulețe, although Nick thinks they’re not impressive enough. They are both impressed by the joulutorttu, though Bucky is quick to point out that Wanda did most of the folding. Peggy shrugs and tells him that however they’re folded they’re still delicious. Clint eats a whole one himself. Even the macarons go down well, especially with Natasha.  
Alexander is next. Peggy finds his croissants well laminated, but a little bland, Nick agrees that they are crisp and well risen, but lacking in flavour. His bichon au citron, a French pastry filled with lemon curd, goes down a little better, though Nick finds the curd too sweet. Peggy struggles to eat the rose macarons, and suggests that he was a little heavy handed with the rosewater, Nick is less tactful, and tells him they taste like soap, much to Alexander's surprise.  
Steve follows, and blushes when Peggy smiles at him. The judges love his _Franzbrötchen_ , German sweet rolls made with cinnamon and caramelised sugar. Clint _loves them_ , and shoves several into his pockets for later. The chocolate macarons are well received too, and Natasha eats three of them, glaring at Clint the whole time as if daring him to make a comment. He just blows a kiss at her and shoves another piece of bread in his mouth.  
Wanda is last. Her choux pastry swans, small profiterole style puffs filled with whipped chantilly cream with a little piped pastry head and neck inserted into the puff, are adorable, and Peggy can hardly bring herself to eat one. Nick doesn’t have the same problem, and calls them delicious. The _kouign-amann_ , a Breton pastry made with puff pastry where a thick layer of caster sugar has been added to the dough before rolling and folding it. Peggy is very impressed with Wanda’s work, and tells her she should feel very proud. Wanda blushes and mutters under her breath. The red velvet macarons are almost an afterthought, it’s clear that she has won.

The judges go off somewhere private to discuss the weekends challenges, and Phil takes Wanda off for an interview, so Steve cautiously approaches Bucky and asks if they can talk outside.  
For once the words don’t make Bucky feel uneasy, and he takes Steve by the hand and leads him out onto the grounds, finding a quiet spot by the walled garden.  
Steve kicks at the grass, fidgeting while Bucky waits for him to figure out what to say.  
“I know we have a lot to talk about,” Steve focuses on the grass at his feet. “And I owe you so many apologies…”  
Bucky reaches out and grasps his wrist. “You fucked up. That’s okay,” he rubs his thumb across Steve’s wrist. “It’s okay.”  
Steve manages to lift his head up high enough to catch Bucky’s eye, even if Bucky has to duck his head a little and meet him halfway.  
“Can we,” Steve licks his lips. “Can we just skip ahead to the bit where you kiss me?”  
Bucky tugs on Steve’s wrist, pulling him closer and brushing their mouths together. Steve opens up for him, cradling the curve of his jaw in his hands as Bucky kisses him, slow and meticulous and tasting of plum jam. 

Phil has to clear his throat and call their names before they finally part, Steve blushing furiously while Bucky wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.  
“Results,” Phil mutters before he skulks away, looking deeply uncomfortable.  
Steve clears his throat, trying not to laugh. Bucky slips an arm around his waist and they walk back to the Marquee. They take their places on the row of stools at the front of the tent, Bucky sitting between Steve and Wanda.  
Peggy congratulates the group on doing so well over the weekend, and wastes no time in announcing Wanda as the weeks Star Baker. Bucky kisses her on the cheek and murmurs sentimental things that make her smack him on the chest, but not hard enough to make him stop. Nick announces that the contestant going home is Alexander.  
“You just weren’t good enough,” Nick says, brutally honest.  
Wanda goes to the judges to thank Nick and hug Peggy, and Bucky gives Steve’s hand a quick squeeze before letting go and walking over to where Alexander is standing.  
The man grimaces, but doesn’t back away. “What’re you going to do? Throw a knife at me?” he growls.  
Bucky reaches out and takes his hand, giving it a shake, squeezing a little tighter than is comfortable with his prosthetic fingers and watching Alexander squirm. “Not going to do anything to you,” he says softly, leaning closer and whispering in his ear. “The producers may not care about what you did, but I promise you, the thirteen million people who watch this show, who are going to see the shit you pulled? They’ll care.” He lets go of Alexander's hand, and takes a brief moment to appreciate his expression, pale and twisted. “They’ll care a lot.”  
He turns his back on Alexander, reaching out to takes Steve’s hand again. They walk outside and stand in the sunshine, waiting for Wanda to come out and join them.  
Steve curls his palms around Bucky’s hips, head bowed to press their foreheads together.  
Phil comes out with their handouts for next week, and see’s them curled around each other. It takes several loud clearings of his throat to get their attention. Steve mutters an apology as he takes the sheets.  
Bucky is perfectly comfortable where he is, his hands tucked under Steve’s t-shirt and splayed out across his back, and has no intention of moving them any time soon, so Steve hold up the papers for them to read.  
“Botanical?” Bucky mutters doubtfully.  
Steve lowers the handout and gives Bucky a shy smile. “So. My kitchen’s pretty small, but. Well. If you wanted to come over…”  
“That sounds great,” Bucky says quickly, before Steve gets any more flustered.  
“We should probably get started right away,” Steve adds, trying not to grin.  
“Seems reasonable,” Bucky agrees, not even trying.

They finally pry themselves apart and walk down to the taxi, where Maria hands them their phones and forms to fill out. They collect their luggage and wait for Wanda, who has been watching the spectacle of Alexander trying to argue his way back in to the competition at the Marquee.  
Maria snorts and hustles them into the waiting taxi, and sends them on their way.  
‘Hand’s where I can see them,” Wanda warns as she turns on her phone.  
Bucky chuckles and settles back in his seat, his hand loosely curled in Steve’s.  
“We’re in the final,” Steve murmurs, tracing along the metal plates at Bucky’s wrist. Wanda looks up from her phone and gives them a wide smile, a real troublemaker.  
“I’ve got an idea.”

\---------

Eclairs (makes 12)

4 tbsp water  
4 tbsp whole milk  
50g/2oz butter  
1 tsp sugar  
100g/4oz plain flour  
4 medium free-range eggs, beaten

400g whipped cream, for filling  
200g melted chocolate, for topping

Preheat the oven to 170C/325F/Gas 3.  
Put water, milk, butter and sugar in a medium saucepan over a high heat and bring the mixture to a boil. Remove the pan from the heat beat in the flour with a wooden spoon until the mixture is completely smooth. This is the terrifying bit, but trust me, it’ll work.  
Turn the heat down to medium, return the pan to the hob and cook for about one minute, beating all the time, or until the mixture comes away from the edge of the pan.  
Remove from the heat and gradually beat in the eggs until you have a smooth, dropping consistency. (where the batter flops lazily off the spoon, rather than pours, or sticks to the spoon altogether. You might not need all the eggs for this)  
Transfer the paste to a large piping bag fitted with a 1.5cm nozzle and let the mixture cool for about five minutes in the bag.  
Line a large baking tray with greaseproof paper and pipe on 12 éclairs, each about 15cm/6in long. Yes. 6in for something you stick in your mouth. The French are not subtle.  
Bake the éclairs in the preheated oven for 30-35 minutes or until golden-brown, then transfer to a rack and leave to cool.  
You can fill with whipped cream by either using a piping bag, or splitting the eclair open and filling.  
Drizzle with melted chocolate, which will make a mess of the kitchen, and Steve will give you his Disappointed Eyebrows.

Alternatively, pipe out walnut sized balls and use the same method to make profiteroles.


	9. Botanical

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “They fit together,” Bucky explains to the silent judges. “They’re pretty good individually, but they work better as a unit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we are at last, folks!  
> A thousand thank yous to Queenofthewips and Eidheann for their beta skills.  
> Thank yous and infinite Joululutorttu to Rohkeutta for all the Finnish recipes, and to the degenerates of the stucky skype chat. Perverts, one and all.
> 
> And thank you to everyone who stuck with me this far, who sent me recipes and photos when they made recipes from this fic. 
> 
> If you want more of Bucky's recipes, check out [Bucky's baking blog](https://theartofcookingfortwo.tumblr.com) and show us what you baked 
> 
> dragă - sweetheart  
> tâmpit - asshole

Bucky climbs out of the taxi, holding the door open for Wanda. The opposite door swings open and Steve gets out, pushing the door closed and going to the boot to get their bags. Wanda steps out of the way so Bucky can shut the door and thank the driver, and they walk up to the hotel lobby.  
Maria is at the reception desk, filling out paperwork, and grins at the sight of them.  
“Thank fuck it’s you guys,” she says, pushing three sets of room keys across the desk to them. Bucky hands over his phone and picks up his room key. He doesn’t ask her about ingredients, he already knows what everyone is making.  
He shoulders his bag while Wanda and Steve hand over their phones and take their room keys, answering the usual questions about revisions to their recipes.  
They walk to the stairs, Wanda snatching Steve’s key out of his hands and clicking her fingers until Bucky hands over his.  
“What’re you doing?” Steve asks curiously.  
“I’m checking which room is furthest away,” Wanda tells him, sorting through the keys. “I don’t want to be within hearing range of you two.”  
Steve turns an impressive shade of pink and mutters defensively while Bucky sniggers. She finally gives them a key, pocketing the other two.  
“Hey,” Bucky grabs at the other keys, too slow. “How come we only get one room?”  
Wanda arches an eyebrow at him. “Do you need two rooms?”  
“Fair point,” he concedes, checking the room number. “See you for dinner?”  
Wanda nods and takes her bag down the hallway. Bucky reaches a hand out to Steve, who twines their fingers together and leads the way up the stairs.

They find their room, dropping their bags on the floor and kicking off their shoes before Bucky pushes Steve up against the door and kisses him, light and teasing until Steve grumbles and pulls him into a deep, bruising kiss. Bucky tugs at Steve’s jacket, drawing him away from the door long enough to pull it off his shoulders and let it drop to the floor before stripping off Steve’s t-shirt and crowding him up against the door again.  
Steve pushes back, walking Bucky across the carpet and over to the bed, tipping them both over and onto the mattress. Bucky laughs and shoves Steve onto his back, climbing onto him and straddling his hips. He pauses for a moment to take in the sight of Steve spread out beneath him, bright eyed and bare chested, before leaning down for another kiss, teasing at first before slipping into something slow and sensuous, a slide of tongues and roaming hands. Steve drags the hem of Bucky’s short sleeved t-shirt up, breaking the kiss long enough to shuck it and let it fall to the floor before delving back into each other, sweet and lingering.  
Bucky works his way across Steve’s mouth and down his jaw, uttering a soft whine when fingers twist in his hair. He nibbles at Steve’s collarbone and trails fingers across his stomach, working his way down to unfasten the button on Steve’s khakis, easing down the zipper. Steve lifts his hips off the mattress as Bucky gathers up the waistband of his trousers and underwear and tugs them down, settling between Steve’s knees and nuzzling at the crease of his thigh.  
Steve sighs as Bucky wraps a hand around his cock, the prosthetic cool against his flushed skin. Bucky swipes his tongue up the underside, mouthing at the crown as Steve shifts and moans under him, tightening his fingers in Bucky’s hair as he dips his head and sucks, swallowing him down.

Steve squirms, tugging at Bucky’s hair. “C’mere,” he mumbles, pulling gently until Bucky releases his cock and crawls up the bed to kiss him, softs presses of his lips interspersed with teasing licks and bites. Steve shoves Bucky’s jeans down his hips, hooking his thumbs into his boxers and tugging them down as Bucky wrestles them off and kicks them onto the floor. Steve grips Bucky by the hips and rolls them over, pinning him to the mattress. Bucky’s breath catches in his throat as Steve bends down to mouth at the point where shoulder meets neck, taking Bucky’s skin between his teeth, just shy of painful. Bucky reaches up to grip Steve by the shoulders as he pulls back and props himself up on one elbow, reaching between them to wrap his broad hand around both their cocks. Steve twists his wrist and pumps slowly, swiping his thumb across the crowns on the upstroke. Bucky whines, low in the back of his throat, thrusting up into Steve’s fist as he increases the pace, pulling Steve down to smear kisses to his jaw, pressing teeth to the sensitive skin beneath his ear and sucking hard enough to bruise. He feels Steve’s cock swell and pulse against his own and comes, sharp and blinding, feels Steve tremble and choke out his name before spilling on Bucky’s stomach.  
Steve brushes his mouth against Bucky’s, coaxing and gentle, chuckling at his half hearted attempts to reciprocate. Bucky grumbles when Steve wipes them off with a damp cloth and kicks at him half heartedly.  
“Get in here,” Bucky mutters, dragging the blankets out from under him. Steve takes a moment to set an alarm and crawls under the covers, curling up in Bucky’s arms, the prosthetic fingers, skin-warmed and tickling, tracing patterns across his back.

Steve drags Bucky out of bed and into the shower, though he doesn’t join him, much to Bucky’s disgust. They dress and head downstairs, where Wanda and Maria are waiting for them.  
Dinner is one of the nicest meals Bucky has had in a long time. The food is pretty good, and they persuade Maria to join them for a change. She makes a point of ordering the most expensive thing on the menu, along with a bottle of wine for the table, and tells them stories of previous year's contestants, culminating in a spectacular rant about date syrup that has Bucky laughing so hard he thinks he’s about to bust something.  
He sits back in his chair and watches as Wanda and Steve get into a discussion about breakfast pastries, demonstrating folding techniques with their napkins. Steve watches intently as she demonstrates the folding technique of _sfogliatelle_ , which Bucky can’t even pronounce, let alone make. He reaches out and presses the flat of his hand against Steve’s back, stroking up his spine. The prosthetic registering heat and pressure as he maps the swells and curves of broad shoulders. Steve glances over and gives him a lopsided smile before turning back to Wanda and describing a similar pastry called a ‘lobster tail’. Bucky closes his eyes and listens to the hum of conversation around him, until Steve notices him dozing and calls it a night.  
They walk back to the hotel, Bucky half asleep on his feet and grateful for the grounding weight of the arm around his waist. Wanda kisses him on the cheek and says goodnight and they stumble up the stairs to their room.  
Bucky brushes his teeth and takes a good look at himself in the mirror. I’m lucky to be alive, he thinks. Steve bullies him into his nightclothes, pulling back the covers and pushing him onto the bed.  
“You don’t need to fuss,” Bucky yawns as Steve wraps around him, curling his hand around his shoulder where prosthetic meets twisted flesh.  
“Yes I do,” Steve mumbles into his shoulder.  
Bucky snorts and threads his fingers into Steve’s honey blond hair. “I’m not mad at you. Never was.”  
Steve reaches up and kisses Bucky’s jaw, stubble grazing at his lips. “Well, I’m mad at me.”  
Bucky sniffs, it’s not the first time they’ve had this conversation. Probably not the last either. “Quit beating yourself up. Or, as your boyfriend, it’s my duty to knock out the guy beating on you. And since that’s you, I’ll be the guy beating on you and just end up having to punch myself in the face.”  
Steve snorts. “Go to sleep, Buck. You’re rambling.”  
Bucky grumbles, but shuts his eyes.  
“You look out for everyone, Buck,” Steve murmurs as he’s dozing off. “Somebody's gotta look out for you.”

“Bucky?”  
Bucky cracks open one eye. It’s stupidly early, and Steve is already dressed. Bucky groans and pulls the pillow over his head.  
Steve peels back the pillow enough to look at Bucky’s scrunched up features. “I’m just going out for a run.”  
“Doesn’t sex count as aerobic exercise?” Bucky growls, snatching the pillow back and covering his eyes.  
“Is that an offer?” he teases, like being awake at the asscrack of dawn is a normal thing.  
“Go,” Bucky pokes a hand out of the covers and flaps it at him. “Be back for breakfast.”  
Steve kisses his shoulder, and the prosthetic registers damp and pressure. It doesn’t report on the way Bucky’s stomach clenches.  
He dozes off, waking up again to the sound of the shower running. He fumbles for his watch and checks the time, dragging himself out of bed. He strips off his nightclothes and sneaks into the bathroom.  
For someone so big and broad, Steve shrieks like a girl when startled.

Wanda is already in the dining room drinking coffee when Bucky turns up for breakfast. Bucky gives up on choosing something for breakfast and brings the whole tray of pastries over to the table, twisting it around until the almond croissants are facing Wanda. She carefully chooses one and sets it on her plate, plucking the toasted almonds off the top and eating them, one by one.  
Steve gives them a sheepish little smile when he arrives a while later and fetches himself some coffee before joining them at the table.  
“How’s your back?” He asks, biting into a brioche.  
Bucky rotates his shoulders, assessing. “Not too bad. Bit sore.”  
“You’ll be okay?” Steve presses.  
Bucky smiles at him, his eyes crinkling. “I’ll be fine, dragă.”  
Steve flushes, and pays close attention to his coffee cup.

Phil greets them at the estate, wringing his hands and completely failing to make eye contact with Steve as he runs through the usual rules and warnings before the weekend begins. They listen patiently, as it seems to settle his nerves, and follow him to the Baking Marquee.  
They go to their counters, checking that they have all their ingredients and equipment in place and keeping themselves busy until Clint and Natasha show up. They walk around the tent, saying hello to everyone. Natasha takes one look at the bite mark that the collar of Bucky’s t-shirt fails to cover completely and grins at him.  
“You getting some, Barnes?” she asks, mock coyly.  
He raises his eyebrows at her, giving her his best innocent look. “Whatever makes you think that, Nat?”  
She pats him on the arm, her fingernails clicking against the prosthetic, and tugs at the short sleeve. “Looking good,” she tells him, before going off to antagonise Phil a bit more.  
The judges arrive, Peggy wearing a jacket with a bold rose print design that catches the eye, and Nick in his usual leathers. It’s a wonder he doesn’t get heatstroke.  
Phil gets everyone in position and the cameras start rolling.  
Clint welcomes everyone back to the tent for the final weekend of challenges, telling the cameras that the theme is Botanical. Nick informs them of the first challenge of the day, a herbed flatbread, adding that he expects nothing short of perfection from the bakers. Peggy wishes them all the best of luck, smiling brightly, and the challenge begins.

Bucky fetches a bowl and weighs out flour, adding a little salt, olive oil and sugar, along with fast acting dried yeast. He stirs the wet mixture with a wooden spoon, pouring a little oil on the countertop and tipping the wet dough out and kneading it, keeping his prosthetic away from the dough, as it’s sticky and loose and will no doubt gum up the mechanism something fierce. He scrapes the dough into a clean bowl and puts it in the proving drawer. He washes his hands, tucks his timer in his apron pocket, and heads off to find the kettle.  
He makes two cups of coffee and one of green tea, taking the tea over to Wanda’s counter and checking on how she’s getting before going to pester Steve for a while.  
As he’s finished his kneading and has an hour while his dough proves they go outside and sit on the grass for a while to drink their coffees, Bucky stretching out while Steve uses his thigh as a pillow and dozes off, nose twitching whenever a bee buzzes too close.  
It’s a peaceful moment brought to an end when Bucky’s timer goes off, and he gives Steve a gentle shove. “C’mon, up.”  
Steve grumbles, but gets up, holding out both hands and pulling Bucky to his feet. They walk back to the tent, shoulders bumping together.  
Bucky greases a baking tray and fetches the dough from the proving drawer. He gives it a light knead and transfers it to the tray, pressing his fingers into the dough and working it into a flat rectangle. He puts it in the proving drawer and sets the timer for another hour.  
Steve clears his throat, and Bucky looks up to see Nick and Peggy on their way over.  
“Good morning,” Peggy says with a wide smile.  
“Hey, Peggs,” Bucky says, bringing the dough out of the proving drawer to show them.  
“What have you got for us? Foccacia?”  
“Yup,” he lets her press a finger to the dough. “Sea salt and rosemary.”  
“Delicious,” Peggy says approvingly. Nick reaches out to touch the dough but Bucky taps the back of his hand with a spatula. He pulls his hand away, grinning as Bucky carefully slides the tray back into the proving drawer.  
Steve comes over to keep him company while their breads do their final rise, talking softly and watching Wanda making her Indian flatbreads. Steve doesn’t flinch away when a camera catches them together, arms around each other, Bucky’s head resting on his shoulder.  
Steve goes back to his bake and Bucky pre heats his oven, picking through his branches of rosemary for some suitable sprigs. He takes his dough out of the proving drawer and pokes a series of holes into it with his fingertips, tucking the rosemary sprigs into the depressions and drizzling the bread with olive oil. He scatters sea salt over the top and puts it in the oven, sitting on the floor to watch it bake.  
He’s pretty happy with the results, and sets the bread on a wooden board as Clint tells them that time is up.

Phil sends the cameras to each contestant, getting footage of them with their bakes before the judging begins.  
Steve is the first to be approached by the judges, who try his Afghani bolani, a mashed potato and spring onion filled flatbread. Peggy loves the flavour, and asks him where he came up with the recipe. Steve flushes a charming shade of pink when he tells her that Bucky taught him how to make it, darkening around the ears when she gives him a knowing look, and remarks that it’s a good bake for a young man who needs to keep his strength up. Clint is taking a bite of one at that moment, and promptly has a coughing fit.  
Bucky is next with his foccacia. Nick spends far too long prodding at the bread, trying to find fault with it, and eventually dismisses it as ‘good’. Peggy adds that she think’s it’s delicious.  
Wanda is last with her taftan, a Persian bread flavoured with saffron and ground cardamom. Peggy adores it, and after some serious consideration, Nick agrees with her assessment.  
Phil checks that the camera crew have everything they need, and sends the contestants off to lunch. They briefly consider following Phil's instructions to go to the catering van, then gather up their bakes and go outside onto the lawn.  
They sit in the sunshine, chewing pieces of bread and pondering what the Technical Challenge will be. Clint comes out to snag a chunk of focaccia, and ends up sitting with them, basking in the sun.  
Phil eventually finds them sprawled on the grass, and summons them inside. Clint whines and refuses to move until Natasha comes out and prods him with the toe of her boot. He slaps her leg away and grudgingly gets up, following the group as they walk back to the Marquee.

They take their places behind the counters, murmuring good luck to each other while the judges take their position at the front of the Marquee.  
Natasha introduces the Technical Challenge, explaining for the last time how it’s a chance for the contestants to show off their baking skills when given the most basic instructions.  
Peggy introduces the challenge; a Spanische Windtorte. Clint has a mild coughing fit, so Nick describes the dish, an Austrian dessert made with meringue and filled with whipped cream and berries. Clint, when he finally recovers, reminds them that the challenge is judged blind, and sends the judges out of the Marquee. They are given a time limit and told to get started.

Bucky looks over at Steve, who shakes his head and turns to Wanda, but she doesn’t know what it is either. Bucky turns over the sheet of paper left on his counter and starts reading the instructions. They’re basic; make two 20cm circles and three 20cm rings of French meringue. Fine then.  
He lines three baking trays with parchment and draws the circles on them, managing to get five circles spread out over the three trays, and preheats the oven.  
He checks the ingredients and makes the French meringue in the freestanding mixer, adding the sugar a spoonful at a time until he has a thick, glossy meringue. He transfers it to a piping bag and pipes out his circles and rings, smoothing them down before putting them in the oven.  
He has some time while they’re baking to go see what Steve is up to, and watches him decorate his top layer of meringue with artful scrolls. Wanda is hunched over her counter with a palette knife, making sure her meringues are perfectly level. It’s slightly terrifying to watch her work.  
They drink coffee while waiting for their meringues to bake, and Wanda makes up her Swiss meringue and teaches Bucky some piping techniques. He’s terrible at it, but grateful to her for trying all the same.

Bucky goes back to his counter and sets a large bowl on a pan of water over a medium heat. He puts egg whites and sugar in the bowl, along with a jam thermometer and starts whisking, keeping an eye on the temperature until it hits 70°C. He takes the bowl off the heat and keeps whisking, clenching his jaw when his shoulder starts to ache.  
Steve must have some sort of sixth sense for Barnes discomfort, because he’s suddenly right beside Bucky, saying his name softly as he takes the bowl out of his hands. Steve whisks the meringue until cool and stiffened, while Bucky does his physio exercises, and hands the bowl back to him.  
“Ask for help next time,” Steve mutters, kissing the corner of Bucky’s mouth and going back to his own bake.  
Bucky blows him a kiss and takes his meringues out of the oven. He uses a few blobs of the Swiss meringue to stick the base piece onto the cake stand provided, and the three hoops on top. He smoothes Swiss meringue around the sides of the tower, trying to get the finish as even as possible. He’s not an expert at piping, but manages the reverse shell border that Wanda showed him, piping around the base of the meringue and around the lid before putting it in the oven to finish off.  
Steve’s piping is more impressive, loose roses clustered together all around the sides of the bake and across the lid. Wanda has managed to get her meringue to a mirror smooth finish by some sort of witchcraft, and she is piping tiny, five petal flowers in an elegant sprawl across her bake.  
Clint comes over to get underfoot while Bucky takes the meringue out of the oven, and helps himself to strawberries until Bucky swats at him with a wooden spoon.  
While the meringue cools Bucky whips up double cream and icing sugar to form soft peaks. He slices up strawberries and stirs them into the cream. He piles it all into the hollow centre and sets the lid on top, fussing with it until it’s level.  
Natasha calls time, and they all step away from their bakes. Bucky goes over to Steve’s counter to admire his efforts, and gets wrapped up in an exhausted embrace.  
“You did great,” Bucky murmurs as Steve slumps against him. He doesn’t answer, just buries his face in Bucky’s shoulder, hands gripping at his t-shirt.

They place their bakes on the table at the front of the Marquee, behind the photos of each contestant placed in a neat row facing away from where the judges can see them, and take a seat on the row of stools positioned at the front of the Marquee.  
Nick and Peggy return, and take a moment to admire the finished bakes. Nick hums to himself, commenting on the finishes before cutting into the first one. It’s Buckys, and Peggy remarks that the meringue is well baked, and the filling well sweetened. Nick calls the finish shoddy.  
“Rustic,” Peggy says pointedly.  
They try Wanda’s next, and Peggy enthuses about the presentation, before giving Wanda a smile. Nick declares that it’s an excellent example, finishing with a grudging ‘well done’.  
Steve’s is last. Peggy finds the meringue nice and crisp, and the decorative finish beautiful. Nick eventually agrees.  
After a brief discussion they rate the bakes from worst to best, and it’s Bucky, Steve and Wanda. Bucky wraps his arms around Wanda’s waist and whispers softly to her, persevering even when she kicks him in the shins.

Phil checks the camera crews have all they need before dragging them outside, one by one, to do interviews.  
Bucky lets Phil position him in the shade of a tree, shuffling him a few inches to the left and right like a neurotic cat moving her kittens. He finally tugs at the collar of his own white shirt and says, rosy spots forming on his cheeks “Can you..?”  
It takes Bucky a minute to figure out that Phil has noticed the bite mark peeking out from under his t-shirt. He snorts and shakes his head. Phils fingers twitch, like he’s seriously considering adjusting Bucky’s clothing, but instead he frowns and tells the cameraman to start filming.

_Bucky grins at the camera and brushes his hair off his face, tucking a loose strand behind his ear.  
“Yeah. In the final. Not sure how that happened.”  
He tilts his head at a question asked off camera. “Who do I want to win?” He shakes his head. “Sorry Steve, I love you but I gotta say Wanda.”  
He smiles at the camera, his eyes crinkling._

Bucky waits with Wanda while Steve does his interview, sitting in the shade of a chestnut tree. Wanda picks up Bucky’s arm and pulls it around her shoulders, tucking her head under his chin. He cradles the back of her skull in his hand while she plucks at the flecks of meringue stuck to his t-shirt.  
“You okay, păpuşă?” he asks softly.  
Wanda is silent for a little too long. Bucky strokes his fingers through her hair. “Just because the show’s over, doesn’t mean we won’t still see each other all the time,” he says slowly.  
Wanda scowls and jabs him in the ribs.  
“Ow!” Bucky rubs at his chest, but doesn’t knock her hand away. “I’m serious. I expect to see you at least once a week. And if I don’t get a text from you every day I’ll assume you’ve been kidnapped and organise a rescue mission.”  
Wanda makes a derisive sound, but she smiles into his t-shirt.

They take a taxi back to the hotel, and go to their rooms to shower and get changed before dinner. Wanda makes thinly veiled threats about running late due to any fooling around, but in all honesty Bucky is too damn tired to even think about anything more than a hot shower.  
He presses his forehead to the cold tiles and lets the water beat down on his back, just shy of scalding, until Steve starts to worry that he’s fallen asleep in there and comes to get him out, turning off the taps and wrapping a towel around his shoulders.  
Bucky dries himself off and gets dressed. Steve is deplorably fast with having a shower, and getting dressed, so Bucky doesn’t even get to enjoy the view.  
Steve laughs when he expresses his displeasure, and hustles him out into the hallway, locking the door behind them and taking Bucky's hand as they walk down to the dining room.  
They pick at their meals and go over the plan for the tomorrows final, scratching notes on napkins with a borrowed pen.  
“You think we’ll get into trouble?” Wanda asks suddenly.  
Bucky looks up at her and flashes a smile. “Yes.”  
Steve doodles a butterfly on his napkin. “Do you think they’ll make us start over?”  
Wanda shakes her head. “No time.”  
“They didn’t have time to redo the challenges that got sabotaged.” Steve agrees.  
Bucky looks around the table. “We can still back out.”  
Wanda shakes her head sharply. Steve smiles. “I’m in,” he says quietly.  
“Well, then,” Bucky sits back in his chair. “That’s settled.”

They say goodnight and make their way to their rooms. Bucky stays awake long enough to brush his teeth and get into his night clothes, crawling under the covers and falling into a deep, peaceful sleep.  
He wakes up when Steve climbs out of bed, and manages to grab his arm in the darkness.  
“Come back to bed, tâmpit,” he mumbles, tugging Steve back down. “Go run a marathon tomorrow.”  
Steve huffs at him, but lies down again, pulling the covers back in place, and Bucky goes back to sleep.  
Steve shakes him awake again a few hours later and they get dressed, collecting up their belongings and packing their bags, checking for anything left behind, before locking up the room and heading downstairs for the last time.  
Maria is waiting downstairs to take their bags and room keys, and if she's feeling nostalgic she hides it well.

Wanda is already in the dining room, drinking coffee and picking at a bagel. Bucky fetches coffee and kisses the top of her head before taking a seat. She raises her eyebrows at the sight of Steve at breakfast. “Not out jogging?” She asks as Steve brings over a plate of pastries.  
Steve gives Bucky a pointed look and shakes his head.  
“Is it just Pietro coming today?” Bucky asks her, determined to change the subject. Wanda nods. The final challenge in the competition is a tea party, and since a tea party needs guests, friends and family, as well as all the contestants who had been eliminated from this years competition, are attending. Pietro is all the family Wanda has, though the pair have been pretty much adopted by Bucky and the Howlies.  
Bucky is looking forward to seeing them all again. He's really looking forward to introducing Alexander to the Howling Commandos. Especially since Steve is still pretty twitchy whenever he’s brought up in conversation. Bucky knows something had gone on there, but if he pushes the subject Steve will shut down. So he waits, as patiently as he can, for the moment when Steve is ready to talk.  
He grins at Steve. “Who have you got coming?”  
Steve fiddles with his croissant. “Sam,” he says quietly.  
Bucky nods. He's not met Sam yet, though Steve has been subjected to the Howlies and their extensive repertoire of drinking songs and embarrassing anecdotes.  
“This is your trainer, yes?” Wanda asks.  
From what Steve has told Bucky, Sam is a personal trainer, therapist and surrogate mother. And clearly has the patience of a saint.  
Maria interrupts them to point out that there’s a competition they're supposed to be taking part in, and forces them into a taxi.

They walk across the grass to the Baking Marquee, keeping out of the way while Phil fusses around the camera crews. They go to their counters and check that all the ingredients and equipment are in place. Bucky separates out the dough ingredients he’s been given and puts them to the end of his counter.  
Clint and Natasha arrive, and take a moment to say hello to the contestants before going off to annoy Phil.  
Peggy and Nick finally arrive, Peggy in a floral print dress that shows off her hourglass figure and daring red lipstick. Phil moves everyone into position, and the cameras start rolling.  
Natasha introduces the Showstopper Challenge, describing it as an opportunity for the contestants to show off their baking skills to produce something visually stunning and delicious. Peggy announces the challenge itself, Afternoon Tea. Nick goes into detail, informing the contestants that they are expected to produce: twelve fruit tarts, twelve cream filled buns and a celebration cake. Clint gives them their time limit, and tells them to get on with it.

Bucky takes his extra flour and eggs over to Steve’s counter, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before going back to his own.  
He weighs out flour and butter, tripling the recipe that he has written in front of him, and rubs the butter into the flour until the mix resembles fine breadcrumbs. He adds egg yolk, one at a time, until it comes together into a soft dough. He wraps up the dough and puts it in the fridge, then preheats the oven and gets to work chopping up plums for his cake.  
Steve clears his throat, and Bucky looks up to see Nick and Peggy approaching his table.  
“Good morning,” Peggy looks at his counter. “So you’re making a plum cake?”  
Bucky nods, measuring butter and sugar into the freestanding mixer, and adding a generous spoonful of honey.  
“And your fruit tarts?”  
“Strawberry.”  
Nick makes an intrigued noise. “Same as the others.”  
Bucky nods, “You’ll have to decide whose are best,” he says with a smirk.  
Nick hums to himself, but makes no further comment, and they leave him to get on with it.  
He turns the mixer on, and greases his cake tin while the butter and sugar are being creamed together. He adds eggs to the mixer, one by one, followed by baking powder and flour. He adds grounds almonds, checking that everything is well mixed before switching off the machine and tipping the batter into the tin.  
He smoothes down the surface and puts it in the oven, setting the timer for forty five minutes. While he waits for it to bake he goes over to Steve’s counter to see if he needs a hand, and ends up helping him stretch his enriched dough across the counter until it’s paper thin. They brush the dough with softened butter and roll it up into a log before Bucky goes back to work.

He collects up the tart cases from Wanda and Steve’s counters and fetches his pastry from the fridge, rolling it out thinly and cutting out circles to line the cases. Natasha comes over to stare at him for a while, and he nudges one of the punnets of strawberries towards her. She picks one out and nibbles on it while she wanders off again.  
His shoulder twinges and he pauses to give it a quick massage, trying to work the knots in his back loose. Steve gives him a worried look, and Bucky waves him off, mouthing reassurances as he does so.  
The timer goes off, and Bucky checks on his cake, giving it another five minutes before checking it again and taking it out of the oven. He leaves it in the tin for a few minutes and adjusts the oven temperature, lining a few more pastry cases before setting the timer again and putting the first lot of pastry in the oven to blind bake.  
He releases the cake from it’s tin, relieved to see it remain in one piece, and slides it onto a cooling rack before taking the first lot of pastry cases out of the oven and putting the next lot in to bake.  
By the time he’s blind baked all thirty six pastry cases, there’s not much room on his counter. He takes a few minutes to clear all the ingredients and equipment away, arranging them on the floor out of the way, before taking his cooled plum cake over to Wanda. She tells him to shoo, so he goes over to Steve and helps him fill his thirty six sfogliatella with almond paste and carefully fold them over.  
While Steve figures out where to put all his breads, Bucky gets on with making his creme patisserie, heating milk in a large pan while he beats together eggs and sugar.  
His shoulder twinges, and he reluctantly calls for Steve, who comes over to whisk the eggs while Bucky pours in the hot milk, transferring it back to the pan and stirring until it thickens up. Bucky thanks him with a quick kiss and sends him back to his bread mountain, pouring the creme patisserie into a bowl and putting it in the fridge to chill.

Bucky makes a quick coulis, blending together strawberries and icing sugar together with a squeeze of lemon juice, before neatly slicing the rest of his strawberries. Something batters against the clear plastic side panel of the Marquee next to him, and he looks up to see a figure with a walrus mustache and a bowler hat waving at him.  
“Dugan!” Bucky shouts, setting down his knife and wiping his hands with a tea towel. Steve and Wanda look up, as does Phil, who hurries to the door and starts insisting that the crowd of very loud, very excitable and very insistent people who are gathering around the Marquee really shouldn't be there. They cheerfully ignore him, and shove their way into the tent. Bucky runs over to meet them, getting pulled into a bear hug by Dugan before being passed around the group for slaps on the back and arm punches like a flour dusted pinball. Steve gets a similar greeting, tossed from Morita to Jones to Falsworth and back again. Even Wanda gets passed around like a parcel, only far more gently, with kisses on the cheek and gentle embraces. Bucky finds it highly unfair.  
When Peggy comes over to see what the fuss is, the group fall silent, Dugan whipping his hat off his head and calling her ‘Ma’am.” She offers to show the where the party is being held, and Dugan reverently takes her arm in his and allows himself to be led into the grounds like a lamb, the others following at a sedate pace.

The party is being held on the lawn in front of the Manor house, with three tables set out for the families of each contestant, laid with tablecloths and stacked with plates and cutlery. The surrounding trees have been strung with bunting and a refreshment stand offers tea and coffee. Dugan hides his disappointment well when he learns that coffee is the strongest thing that they will be drinking.  
Pietro comes walking across the grass, no doubt following the sound of enthusiastic mayhem, his shock of white hair visible from a distance. The Howlies live up to their name, roaring with delight to see him and quickly dragging him into the group.  
Phil, lagging behind the group and looking deeply uncomfortable, tries to get everyone to sit at their designated tables. Steve and Bucky take a step back to watch the performance, only to be distracted by the arrival of Sam.  
Sam gives Steve a one-armed hug before holding his hand out for Bucky to shake. Bucky ignores it in favour of giving him a hug.  
Phil points Sam to his table, and he steps away from the pair, taking a seat at the otherwise empty table. Phil hustles Pietro over to Wanda’s table, and he sits down, looking uncomfortable.  
Phil rubs his hands together, and starts listing the day’s itinerary.  
Dugan kicks his chair back and has no compunction about talking over him.  
“Right lads,” he bellows. “Can’t be having this, it’s just too fuckin’ depressing. Let's move!”  
They scramble to their feet, splitting into two groups while Phil tries to explain appropriate language to them.  
They work around him, one group lifting Wanda’s table and fitting it to one side of Bucky’s table, the other lifting Steve’s table and fitting it to the other side. There is a flurry of chairs being tossed around, and the occasional distressed squeak from Phil, before he gives up and leaves them to it, ordering the contestants back to the tent.  
The last thing Bucky sees is Sam being pulled into a chair next to Morita, who wraps an arm companionably around his shoulders. Bucky is pretty sure he hears the words ‘camel spiders’.

Bucky hasn’t got much left to do with his bakes, since the others had insisted on giving him the easier task, so spends a bit of time at Wanda’s counter, rolling out her gingerbread dough and stamping out butterflies. He lays the biscuits on a lined cookie sheet, filling the cut out holes in their wings with crushed boiled sweets and putting them in the oven to bake. They come out beautifully, the wings iridescent. He carefully transfers them to a wire rack to cool and goes back to his own counter to fill his tarts.  
Natasha follows him, and takes a long look at the lines of pastry cases that he pipes creme patisserie into.  
“That’s a lot of tarts,” she says finally.  
Bucky makes a noncommittal humming sound.  
“No rolls, though,” Natasha continues.  
“Yeah. Funny that,” Bucky agrees, biting back a smile.  
“Is there a cake, at least?”  
“Wanda has it,” Bucky fills another pastry case with creme patisserie. “No room here.”  
Natasha frowns. “What are you playing at, Barnes?”  
Bucky gives her his most innocent look. It’s not very innocent. “I’m just baking.”  
She stares at him for a moment, then smiles suddenly, wide and bright. She presses her hand to his shoulder, brief and warm, and goes off to distract Phil.  
Bucky fans strawberry slices on each tart, working slowly and methodically before brushing each one with the strawberry coulis. A dull ache has settled across his shoulders, heavy and low. He straightens up, pressing a hand to his lower back.  
“You okay?” Steve asks quietly.  
Bucky nods, giving him a small, strained smile. “Yeah, just sore.”  
Steve stops dusting icing sugar over his breads and sets down his sieve, crossing the space between their counters and putting a hand to Bucky’s back. He presses his thumb to the back muscle where the prosthetic meets shoulder and Bucky feels his left knee give way for a second.  
“Ungh,” he chokes out, leaning into the pressure. Steve chuckles and kisses the nape of his neck.  
“Come on,” he says, stroking Bucky’s back affectionately. “Nearly done.”  
Bucky complains half heartedly, but finishes up his tarts.  
Wanda brings his cake over. She has decorated it with plum coloured fondant icing and piped white plum blossoms in a curve across one side. There a a few pieces of wire poked into the side, with some of his gingerbread butterflies attached to the ends, and marzipan bees with chocolate stripes and wings made of slivered almonds nestled amongst the plum blossoms.  
He kisses her cheek and tells her how proud he is, and she kicks him in the shin. Gently.  
Natasha calls time, and the final round is over.

The three of them stand at their counters while the camera crew take shots of their bakes. No one comments on the serried rows of tarts at Bucky’s counter, or the lines of bread rolls at Steves, or that the only thing on Wanda’s counter is a single honey cake.  
The judges take their position at the front of the tent, Clint and Natasha either side of them, and call Bucky down to the judging table.  
He takes a deep breath, and picks up a tray of fruit tarts. He walks down to the judges, and places it carefully on the table in front of them. Nick frowns.  
Wanda picks up his cake and brings it to the front, setting it down in the centre of the table. Steve comes last with a tray of a dozen breads. They don’t return to their counters, standing either side of him.  
Peggy looks intrigued. “Let’s start with the fruit tarts then,” she says pleasantly.  
Nick picks up a tart and slices it in half. He mutters that the pastry is well made, and the bake is good. Peggy likes the creme patisserie, and the sharpness of the coulis.  
Nick points to the bread rolls.  
“Sfogliatella,” Bucky reminds them.  
“You didn’t make these,” Nick says with a scowl.  
Bucky shakes his head with a grin. “Steve did.”  
“We can’t judge you on it.”  
Bucky smiles again, turning to Peggy. “Go on, try it.”  
Natasha reaches out to the display and picks one up. She takes a bite, icing sugar frosting her lips. “Oh, this is really good,” she sighs, and motions to Clint to try. He picks up one and takes a large bite, muttering “Aw hell, yeah,” with his mouth full.  
Peggy shrugs, and cuts one in half before taking a bite. Nick, after a moment of consideration, does the same.  
“Pretty good,” he says finally.  
“Lovely almond flavour, and beautiful presentation,” Peggy looks over at Steve as she speaks. “Well done, you.”  
Steve murmurs a thank you.  
Nick turns to the cake, and shakes his head. “The presentation is a little off.”  
Peggy nods. “It does look rather unfinished.”  
Bucky agrees. “It needs the rest.”  
He glances at Steve, who goes over to his counter and picks up his almond and lemon cake. It’s covered with pale yellow fondant, and decorated with the same pear blossoms and marzipan bees, gingerbread butterflies on lengths of wire skewered into the sides.  
He brings the cake over to the judging table, adjusting it’s position until the spray of iced blossoms line up, and carefully rests it on top of the plum cake.  
Wanda picks up her honey cake, covered with light cream coloured fondant thickly covered in plum blossoms and bees, a cloud of gingerbread butterflies around it.  
She positions her cake firmly on the top, a seamless drape of flowers and a sprawl of butterflies ascending.  
“They fit together,” Bucky explains to the silent judges. “They’re pretty good individually, but they work better as a unit.”  
Peggy presses the back of her hand to her mouth. “Of course they do,” she says brightly, smiling at the three of them. “I wouldn’t expect any less from you.”

Nick purses his mouth, and mutters ‘Aw hell’ under his breath before giving in. He cuts a slice from each cake, laying them out on a plate along with a gingerbread butterfly and a marzipan bee.  
They try the plum cake first. It’s dense and rich, spiked with Țuică. Peggy recognises the plum liqueur and smiles fondly.  
“Wonderful,” she says finally. “I can really taste the alcohol.”  
They cut into Steve’s lemon and almond cake. It’s uncompromising, the texture coarse from ground almonds, the lemon sharp on the tongue with an underlying sweetness.  
Peggy nods thoughtfully. “Very bold. Not to everyone's taste, but worth making the effort for.”  
Steve blushes and pays close attention to his shoes, grasping Bucky's hand when it’s silently offered and squeezing tightly. The prosthetic registers pressure, and his heart thumps in agreement.  
Wanda’s cake is last. Light and fragrant with honey, with a sharp bite of black pepper.  
Peggy laughs. “A sweet little thing that packs a punch,” she says delightedly.  
Bucky snorts, and curls his other hand into Wanda's palm, feeling her fingers close around his.  
The judges, after a few minutes of quietly conferring with Phil, who looks about ready to blow a gasket until Peggy rests her hand on his arm. She speaks gently, and his shoulders sag. He finally nods, and watches as Nick and Peggy leave the Marquee before turning back to the contestants.  
“Very clever,” he utters sourly. “Take your bakes outside, everyone’s waiting. The judges will come out and make an announcement when they’ve made their decision.”  
He stalks off, muttering under his breath about getting fired.  
Clint and Natasha offer to take the cake outside while the contestants carry the trays of pies and bread, and they walk across the grass, weighed down with baked goods, to the tables out on the grass.

There is a loud cheer as they arrive led by the Howlies, holding court at the three tables pushed haphazardly together. They are surrounded by the eliminated contestants from the series, some standing, but most sat around the tables, extra chairs having been liberated from around the estate by Falsworth and Morita.  
Steve hesitates as Clint and Natasha place the cake in pride of place at the centre of the table, Wanda putting a tray of fruit tarts in front of the crowd, who let out a ragged cheer and dive into them. The dozen tarts last a few seconds, so Bucky quickly puts down his tray each of bread rolls and tarts before Luis can tackle him. He quickly realises that Steve is hanging back, and goes to fetch him, Luis hanging off his shoulders.  
“Steve?” he half-laughs as Luis tries to drag him to the ground. Steve’s mouth is a flat, grim line as he looks past Bucky and Luis, at Alexander hovering at the edge of the group, looking at them with distaste.  
Bucky looks over at Alexander, scowling at them, before turning back to Steve. “What is it?”  
Steve shakes his head, and steps forward to put his two trays on the table, dodging out of the way of grabbing hands. He steps back, his head lowered.  
“Alexander, he…” he swallows. “He figured it out, long before I did.” He looks up at Bucky. “How I felt about you. And he… Well he had some things to say about it.”  
Bucky frowns, feeling Luis’ grip slip from his shoulders. Every cutting aside Alexander had made to him, every snide remark. It never occurred to him that he was doing the same thing to anyone else, let alone Steve. He wraps his arms around Steve’s shoulders, pulling him into a tight hug, and Steve curls into him. “I’m so sorry, dragă,” he says. “You should’ve told me.”  
Steve looks over at the gathering, his eyes widening. “Oh, Luis. No.” he says faintly.  
Bucky turns to see Luis pushing through the crowd, his face like thunder.  
Oh.  
The table explodes in raucous cheering, and Luis cricks his neck, pugnacious.  
Bucky winces. “Yeah, that’s gonna leave a mark.”  
Alexander lies on the grass for a minute, clutching his face. When no one tries to help him up, he scrambles to his feet and stumbles away.

Luis stalks over to Steve and Bucky, leading them to the table with a hand on each of their backs. The Howlies shuffle around, making room for them, and they sit side by side while Dugan shouts for someone to cut the damn cake already.  
Wanda does the honours, passing around plates with a slice each of the three cakes around the table, and Bucky watches the people crowded around him; Thor and Jane huddled together, passing pieces of cake to each other, Sam and Bruce in deep conversation, Darcy flirting mercilessly with Falsworth while he flushes coyly.  
Clint and Pietro snark back and forth to each other, clearly having fun, and Bucky’s not sure how it starts, but they end up at one end of the field with the Howlies who haven’t stuffed themselves with cake, Sam and Thor, and start having a relay race.  
Steve shakes his head, bemused. “How long before we tell them Pietro’s nickname is ‘Quicksilver’?”  
Bucky shakes his head, watching the mop of silver fair flash past. “They’ll figure it out.”  
In the distance Clint yowls as Pietro laps him again.  
“You not joining in?” Bucky gives Steve a poke in the ribs.  
“Ouch!” he rubs his side. “I’m too full of cake.”  
Phil comes stalking across the field, staring in horror at the chaos.  
“Results,” he calls out, and everything comes to a stop.

Nick and Peggy walk out onto the grass, Nick holding an engraved glass cake stand, Peggy holding two bouquets of flowers.  
Phil ushers the contestants into place, fussing over the cameras until Peggy suggests that they’re fine as they are, my dear.  
Clint and Natasha get up from where they’ve been sprawled on the grass and join the judges, brushing grass off their clothes.  
Peggy waits for everyone to settle down before speaking.  
“The winner of this years Bake Off is…”  
She looks at all of the contestants gathered around, their friends and family, smiling brightly.  
“Wanda.”

When things have calmed down a little, and Wanda has given her speech, and the rest of the cake has been eaten, and Luis has finally quits carrying Peggy around bridal-style, the runner-up bouquets still in her arms, Phil takes Steve and Bucky to one side for a final interview. Phil positions them on the grass, a short distance away from the celebrations. 

_Steve slips an arm around Bucky’s waist, kissing him wetly on the cheek. He throws back his head and laughs, nose scrunching up, and wraps an arm around Steve’s shoulders.  
There is a muffled voice off camera, and Steve nods.  
“Yeah, really happy with the results. Wanda is incredible, so hard working.”  
Bucky nods in agreement.  
“What are your plans now?” they are asked.  
Bucky raises his eyebrows at Steve, who chuckles, his ears turning pink.  
“Sleep,” Bucky says, turning to the camera. “And take out. I could use a break.”  
Steve nods. “A vacation would be good,” he tightens his grip around Bucky’s waist.  
Bucky looks at him, mock surprised. “Really? Steve Rogers taking time off?”  
“Yeah,” Steve scratches the back of his head. “Maybe go somewhere a week or two.”  
“That sounds great,” Bucky says softly, then frowns. “Nowhere with fish bread though, yeah?”  
They start laughing, and the screen fades to black_

\--------

Foccacia

500g/1lb 2oz strong white bread flour  
2 tsp salt  
2 sachets dried easy blend yeast  
2 tbsp olive oil  
400ml/14fl oz cold water  
olive oil, for drizzling  
fine sea salt

Place the flour, salt, yeast, olive oil and water into a large bowl. Gently stir with your hand or a wooden spoon to form a dough then knead the dough in the bowl for five minutes.  
Tip the dough onto an oiled work surface and continue kneading for five more minutes. If it’s unbearably sticky, add some extra flour, a tablespoon at a time until you have a workable dough. Return the dough to the bowl, cover and leave to rise until doubled in size.  
Line two large baking sheets with baking paper. Tip the dough out of the bowl and divide into two portions. Flatten each portion onto a baking sheet, pushing to the corners, then leave to prove for one hour.  
Preheat the oven to 220C/425F/Gas 7. Poke holes in the loaves with your fingertips and drizzle with oil, sprinkle with fine sea salt then bake in the oven for 20 minutes. When cooked, drizzle with a little more olive oil and serve hot or warm.

**Author's Note:**

> mama pare rău - sorry mum  
> Tata - dad  
> păpuşă - doll


End file.
